


Augmented Images in Mirror May Appear to be Distorted

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [29]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Limbs, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mirror Universe, Murder, Other, Torture, attempted genocide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:43:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 37,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: When a transporter accident sends John, Sally Donovan, and Bihr Sh'Alaack to an alternative dimension where the Federation has fallen to a brutal Empire, they must struggle to find a way to survive twisted duplicates of their love ones and make their way home.





	1. John's POV

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should have some form of extra warning, because events in this story are a bit beyond my normal wheelhouse, but not sure what to say beyond the tags and John and co are in for a bit of a harrowing adventure.
> 
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Mirror%2C_Mirror_(episode)  
> but to be clear, like the rest of the AU, not the same Mirror verse.
> 
> John is 31. He and Sherlock have known each other for 11 years.  
> This marks the first story of the final "season" of this "series".

John indulged in a few minutes of snuggling into Sherlock's warm body and comforting scent. Sherlock snuffled against his neck and shifted his arm over John's shoulders without waking.

No surprise. Sherlock had been going non-stop at the Exo-Genetics conference on Andor for the last week. He'd wanted to drag John to every panel, and join Sherlock visiting various cutting edge research facilities solving the mysteries of science, but as John had had to remind his great git several times, John had his own career and interests.

John and his research team had just presented their research on "Genotypic Correlations to the Phenotypes of Omega Heats: Juvenile, Pseudo, Cyclical, Sudden Non-Suppression, and Post-Partum" and it was getting quite a lot of attention. Quite a lot. Their panel had been very well attended by geneticists, diagnosticians, and a fairly large contingent from of all places the Genetics Department from Beta Aurigae University, which did exist and was full of some very serious looking and deferential Augments, who Sherlock pointed out had faint depressions on their temples and by the bridge of their noses indicative of an item worn habitually on the head.

Then after a long pause, he'd added, "Like a Breen helmet."

To which John's response of, "Thank you. I did actually get what you meant," had been largely ignored.

Billy with Connor, Gendel, and Chin in tow had also attended, and John ought to get out of bed. For some insane reason he'd arranged to meet Billy for breakfast instead of later. Much later so he could spend a few hours snuggling in bed with Sherlock.

Sherlock had waved off the invite as his late morning into the evening were fully scheduled with meetings where he'd get to show off how brilliant he was.

The implications of Lucy and Sherlock's work with the Ceti Sexus Pollinis were still very much playing out within the Andorian scientific community and larger society.

Lucy had given the keynote address at the conference, which had been amazing. She'd joked about completing her Masters in Biological Sciences while co-parenting raising a child and her search for understanding of her own roots. She'd interwoven this metaphor about roots and tree crowns and the branches in between. John knew she was getting offers to head departments from research institutes all over the Federation. With Eva getting older, John had to wonder how much longer Lucy would want to stay on the Bakerstreet.

Sometimes, John looked at Eva, growing like a weed, and he thought about how tiny she'd been when she'd been born. All that potential that was now turning into real life choices. Where once, she'd wanted to be a princess, now she was talking seriously about the Federation's history of using the Prime Directive to ignore the plight of planets like Bajor. She and Lucy had spent a fair amount of time there over the years on leave with the O'Brian family from DS9.

Which set John to thinking about his own choices. Cuddled with an alpha in a bed that still smelled a bit of the previous night's sex. He and Sherlock had discussed time to time the possibility of children after John finally came clean about the box of massive potential, but other than acknowledging that John was fertile as fuck for Sherlock, they hadn’t carried the discussion to the next step.

John was still trying to decide what he thought about it all.

Did he want to balance a child's real needs with still having time for himself. By the knowledge that his first priority would have to be the phantom child's. Sherlock had parsed all the cubes genotypic data and made projections on what each one would probably look like. Written detailed notes for the circumstances for each. But that was just the beginning of potential.

Would John be like Lucy and still have time for research? Would he be like Sh'Alaack and have space for exploration? Medicine? Last, but certainly not least hours just for cuddles with Sherlock in a warm bed? He wondered if it would have been easier if he and Sherlock had had kids, not thirteen, but maybe one or two, maybe after the polywater incident, if that would have been easier. Not something to decide to do, just caught by circumstance and go.

It was the sort of axle that John could wrap around and around.

Not something to worry about just then.

With an eye to the clock, he made himself get out of their nest of a bed. Sherlock immediately rolled over to hug John's pillow. John briefly resisted the urge to tousle Sherlock's soft curls, then gave in.

"One more day at the conference," he whispered to the sleeping Sherlock. "And then it's our anniversary." The one for the day they met. Sherlock snuffled John's pillow and clutched it tighter. John could not resist pressing a kiss to the tender curve just below his left ear. "I love you."

"Mmmm…" came the answering purr. Sherlock's breathing evened as John pulled away.

John quietly got ready in his morning routine. Showered. Shaved. Sterilized his ovaries, which the quick fuck they'd fit in before drifting off the previous evening had healed from his last de-fertilization. He replicated what he wanted to wear for the day. Dressed. Went out the door after pausing for another fond look at Sherlock.

He'd made it as far as the end of the hall when he heard a snuffled hiccup from the Arboretum Common Room. Although, John had always thought calling it an Arboretum was a bit much. Five potted plants and a few hundred Bonsai maintained by the Tiny Tree club. Given the mental health of his crew fell under his watch and he had time, he poked his head in the door and immediately regretted it.

Trelane wearing something that wouldn't have been amiss on a sixteenth century English poet, all in black velvet, was sitting miserably under a tiny pine.

John thought that if he had to spend his anniversary not having vigorous sex somewhere gorgeous with Sherlock, he was going to be very annoyed.

Trelane sniffled. "John, how do I know if someone is my one and only? The one I'm meant to be with forever and ever?"

"Err…" said John, since the last time he'd seen Trelane, he'd acted like he thought kissing caused plague. "Since when do you worry about if someone likes you?"

"I worry about everyone liking me." Trelane slumped back against the wall. He closed his eyes. "I'm going to die of a broken heart. And my heart will create a reality that is entirely made of darkness and everything will be blackness forever."

"Okay," said John. Pulling up a seat next to Trelane, reasoning that if he nipped this in the bud now, his anniversary might, just might, be saved. "Are you sure your parents aren't looking for you?"

"No," Trelane put a heavy level of scorn in that no. Jupiter's gravity levels of scorn. "They're the ones who told me to get out of the Continuum for a bit and leave them alone. They suggested I come talk to you."

"Great. Just great." John cast around for something. Anything. "Aren't you a little… young to worry about your one true anything?"

Trelane looked at him scandalized. "John, I am practically an adult. It's been literal ages since the last time you saw me." By which he must mean he was approaching whatever passed for a teenager for his people.

John had no idea how an omnipotent energy life form approached emotional relationships. "Well, sometimes it takes a long time to figure out you're meant to be with someone. It took Sherlock and me longer than most to figure we're a good fit, but… um… and you may want to talk to Lucy or Eva about this, but uh… the idea that there's one person in all the galaxy for someone is kind of restrictive. There could be many beings that you could do well with."

"No! Sherlock is your one and only!" Trelane looked at John as if he'd denied the reality of love.

"We love each other," said John carefully.

"No, I mean in all the realities and all the realms of existence, you're meant to be, and when you don't get together it's a tragedy and I cry and I make it rain diamond tears from clouds of black butterflies that spell your names in the sky! Surrounded by a heart!" This last came out in a wail.

"Oh, uh…" John needed to stop this line of conversation. It could only go to a bad place. "I believe you. You absolutely do not need to prove to me that Sherlock and I are meant for each other." After a pause. "It's our anniversary tomorrow and we're going to celebrate. Lovingly. Proving our love for each other."

Trelane sighed. All the tiny trees sighed. "That's not what I'm trying to tell you! At all. There's this other entity."

"So, what are you trying to tell me? Ask me?" As with most conversations with Trelane, John was feeling exhausted and he'd just gotten up. Really he should have just stayed in bed.

"She says I'm omnipotent."

"Well, you are," said John carefully.

Trelane breathed in and out several times in short order. "She doesn't think I can be a perfect knight because I'm omnipotent, but I can! There's this other entity that's been filling her head with ideas about power and what it means and it has no poetry in its soul."

"You are very poetic," said John truthfully. The three months Trelane had spent grounded on the Bakerstreet had seen a surge in poetry written on the walls of the lab deck.

"It's her brother's fault. His head was full of that kind of thing. But if I were to fix that then it would be all black butterflies and diamond rain and I don't want that."

"Thanks," said John faintly given the thread of the conversation.

"So, how do I know if she's my one and only? Mom won't let me check with the future to tell and now you," he looked at John with wide mournful eyes, "even you don't believe in one and only true love."

John said, "You do not need to transport me to some sort of pocket dimension, alternative dimension, or ghost of Christmas past me to prove a point. Sherlock either. I believe you. We’re good. I believe in love. Promise me you won't whammy us."

Trelane knocked his head against the wall and there was a dull boom. "I won't whammy you."

John wasn't entirely sure he could trust this promise, but there was very little he could do about it. "Do you want to talk some more about your friend?"

"I want to become a black hole that swallows other black holes until there's nothing left." He pulled out a silky handkerchief and blew his nose. "She doubts that I can be a Gentil Parfait Knight. I want to show her that I can, but," he waved a hand, "I'm worried about black butterflies."

"Absolutely be gentle," John had a sudden thought, "but if this someone isn't interested, you need to leave her alone."

"That's what Mother says. Just before she said I should talk to you."

John wasn't entirely certain why he wasn't included in the category of people who should be left alone. "Maybe tell your friend how you feel and then give her some space."

"Oh!" Trelane's expression brightened. "A poetic nebula that proves the power of love." He disappeared.

John walked what felt like an infinitely long way to Transporter Room Cloud and had to wonder when the other shoe would drop.


	2. Bihr Sh'Alaack's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, there are 4 Andorian genders.  
> http://memory-beta.wikia.com/wiki/Andorian_sexes
> 
> When we're in an Andorian POV, Bihr's going to parse Andorians not as man/woman/decline to state, nor alpha/omega, but as thaan/chan/shen/zhen.

Bihr had beamed back up to the Bakerstreet earlier that morning from the transporter station off of Freedom Plaza. It was only a few tunnel intersections from where her family was staying while visiting the various family members who had come into the capital.

Thil had forgotten his gift for his grandparents and had fretted about it to the point of fighting with his twin until Sh'Alaack promised to go back to get it.

She knew at least half of it was nerves as Thil and Shor were going to be meeting their potential future bondmates in a few days at the Ceremony of Knowing. An important occasion in any young Andorian's life. All the more so because their children had lived all their lives on the Bakerstreet far from Andor and Andorian traditions.

In truth, the previous evening she'd felt shut out of her bondmates' conversation.

Khel had talked about how nervous she'd been the night of their Ceremony of Knowing. Replicating outfit after outfit to wear. Putting their pictures and virtual conversations up on her wall monitor.

Shroleb had admitted he'd been so nervous that he couldn't eat at all before he'd met his potential mates.

While Ishros had been worried that he hadn't answered the genetic counsellor's personality questions correctly.

Bihr had kept silent. They weren't talking about when they'd met Bihr. They had not had a ceremony. There had been no tests. Bihr had given up on any sort of match. Had been an young adult who'd already been accepted at Starfleet Academy.

They were talking about when they'd been bonded as adolescents with Eshess Sh'Evhaavoss. Their original fourth. Before a shuttle accident ended that future.

Eshess, the brilliant, capable shen, who would have taken the Federation by storm if she'd lived.

Kodos the executioner had killed Bihr's intended bondmates and everyone else of importance in her life. She'd never gotten to have her Ceremony of Knowing, but they'd played together. Been friends. Known their families plans. Before Kodos.

Birh's thoughts had shattered when Khel had placed her hand on Bihr's hand and squeezed. Rested her forehead against Bihr's. Said, "I'm sorry we've left you out of the conversation. We wouldn't be gathering with our children if it were not for you."

Bihr heard the words, but in her heart she knew that they would be gathering, simply without her. Their bond had not caused Lucy Hebron and Captain Holmes to discover the properties of the Ceti Sexus Pollinis.

Bihr was an engineer. She understood what facts applied to her and which did not.

Sometimes, she felt as if she'd been promoted to a position of authority that she doubted she would have gained on any other ship. Stonn was older and more qualified. Certainly, he saw fit to make changes to systems without obtaining her authorization. How could she complain to Captain Holmes? He knew everything. Was constantly making his own changes. Admittedly, documented and under some form of change management after Watson had spoken with him on Bihr's behalf.

Sometimes, she felt like an imposter. Not all the time, but certainly at times like this.

So, she was not in the best of moods when she discovered that Chief Fisher had been modifying the phase adjusters on the transporter without authorization. She tried to sound firm as she said, "Starfleet established that specification for a reason."

Fisher smiled at her as if she'd said something funny. "Captain Holmes encourages initiative." Which was true, but he also had no patience with idiots.

She'd swallowed her next words when Donovan stomped into the room looking annoyed. Not an unusual expression for her. Donovan looked at her. "Weren't you on the planet?"

Bihr held up the gaudily wrapped present. "Thil forgot something."

Donovan grunted.

"And you?" said Bihr. "Why are you headed to Andor?"

"Bailing out a crew member on a drunk and disorderly." Donovan's expression was sour. Whoever it was would not have an easy time when the Security Chief reached them.

Fisher said, "The Doc better get here soon, or you'll miss your transport window. Transport traffic is hella busy at the primary transport station."

Donovan crossed her arms. "He shows up or we go without him. I'm not sitting in shuttle traffic because Watson decided he needed an extra morning shag with the freak."

Bihr had no idea how Donovan could speak with such disrespect about the Captain, or why the Captain allowed it.

Watson rushed into the room looking disturbed and not at all rumpled with the activities of love. "Trelane was in the Arboretum wanting to talk about his love life or lack thereof."

Donovan looked alarmed, which made sense. The last time Trelane had shown up, they had all been made to act out some sort of legend from Earth's history about a noble thief who stole from an oppressive invader regime to return the fruits of their own labor to an enslaved native population. For some reason this involved Donovan being dressed in scarlet and insisting that she was not a merry woman.

"Should we stay?" said Bihr hesitantly. She wanted to return to her family.

"Your window is only open for the next two minutes," said Fisher at the transporter controls, which decided them. Past experience dictated that it didn't matter what they did when it came to Trelane.

"Course," Fisher nodded his head pedantically, "You may notice a slight static on the materialization. There's an ion storm incoming, which will require us to boost the transmission."

Bihr opened her mouth to protest that this was precisely the reason the phase adjuster had been added to the transporter when she was dematerialized with the answering warmth of materialization. The transporter facility off of the Freedom Plaza in the Andorian capital briefly flickered into focus, before stuttering.

The room took shape again and they were not on Andor.

At least, not the Andor that Bihr knew. Elements were the same. She could not have been bonded to an architect for over a decade without learning something. But slabs of ornately carved red stone decorated in gold leaf were bolted to the walls covering the Neo-Utilitarianism style's clean lines and shapes.

Instead of the same Andorian who'd been working the controls of the transporter every morning for the last week, Stonn was standing there wearing a grey tunic and an electrified collar. He stared dully at the ground in a very un-Stonn like manner.

There was a tall alpha Human next to Stonn with the same aromatic scent she associated with Captain Holmes. His clothing was as colorful as the room was gaudy with heavily embroidered robes, an ornate gold sash and red slippers that curled up at the toes.

Donovan said, "Fucking, Trelane."

While Bihr's first thought had been to blame Fisher. She said hurriedly, "I believe that the ion storm sent us to a parallel reality." It was a simple conclusion. Cases of individuals unfortunate enough to transport at the same time as their parallels during an ion storm were well documented and the was reason for Starfleet's transporter configuration protocols.

"Oh, fuck sake!" said Donovan.

The alpha said, "How the mighty has fallen. Sally Donovan, Khan Brittanus' favorite enforcer, may his name live on in glory, stuck finding lost pets."

Donovan, Bihr admired her nerve, replied, "Fuck you," which demonstrated far more calm that Bihr felt.

If she'd felt herself to be an imposter before, how much more so now that she was in an alternative reality.

Watson put his hand on Bihr's wrist, perhaps concerned about her increased respiration. He also appeared to be completely calm, but of course any spouse capable of withstanding as Ishros put it, "The winding whims of Captain Holmes," would have to have a soul of iron.

"Eloquent as ever," said the alpha. "And out of uniform again." He waved a long thin wand at John. "One inferior, a bit long in the tooth, won't be much of a reward there." He waved the wand at Sh'Alaack, "and Bihr Sh'Alaack. Terrorists, especially ones with this one's reputation, are a bit outside your jurisdiction these days, Donovan."

Pale terror filed Bihr's lungs and must be draining her skin of color. Watson held her wrist tighter, which was good or she might have fallen.

The alpha glanced at Stonn. "Why are you just standing there? Do your job and collar them. Lazy Vulcans. I don't see why everyone goes on about your genetics. Personally, I think Khan Brittanus was far too sentimental about your race when they conquered your planet." 

Stonn picked up two collars similar to the one he was wearing from a charging device. He efficiently placed one around Watson's neck and then one around Bihr's. She was unsure if the better course would be to resist or stand there. She hoped it wasn't the type of collar that did worse than a mild electric shock. Stonn took the present from her hand and placed it thoughtfully on the transport station.

The alpha said, "Donovan, how many times do we need to remind you that your only mandate is to track down pets? This," he waved the wand at Bihr, "is no longer in your pay grade."

"Another fucking time after this one," said Donovan pushing her curling black hair over her shoulder, as if she had no cares in the universe.

"The quintessence of eloquence."

The alpha stepped onto the platform and circled around Watson, who broke his hold on Bihr's wrist. He looked at Watson as an animal eyes meat. "Long in the tooth, but comely enough. Perhaps it's time I see about getting a new pet. We'll have to see once the pound gets those clothes off you and prepares you." The alpha dragged his fingers down over John's chest, as he reached Watson's reproductive organs, Watson punched him, which… was this a signal for Bihr to fight?

The alpha barely seemed to notice Watson's blow. "Ho, ho. A real feral one." He gripped the collar and twisted. Held Watson dangling by the collar. Stronger than Human normal, then. "I enjoy the breaking the feral ones in."

He was still laughing at himself when Donovan stunned him. Watson shoved him off as he fell. Donovan turned her phaser on Stonn, who held up his hands. "I won't betray you. Bihr Sh'Alaack, your reputation does you justice. To have succeeded in turning Khan Brittanus' favored enforcer against the Khanate."

"Don't see me next to a fucking Khan, do you?" asked Donovan.

"Ah, revenge." Stonn spread his fingers in a Vulcan greeting. "Sh'Alaack, the Maquis sent me. I am your contact." Bihr's brief relief was countered by the thought that for the other her to be worth a resistance group sending an operative, there must be something they wanted from that other her.

A red light flashed on the ceiling. Stonn tapped some controls. "That's the signal. We've set off an explosion in another part of the facility." 

Donovan said, "I should stay." Her lips quirked. Human expressions as always difficult to read. "Seems like I have a place as a pet catcher, better than all three of us on the run." Bihr was about to protest that they shouldn't lose contact, when Donovan tapped her com, which Bihr had forgotten. Donovan tossed the phaser to Watson. "You should stun me. Better for my cover."

"Logical," said Stonn holding his own phaser, "as stunning you was our original plan before you so precipitously changed sides." There was flash from his phaser and Donovan crumpled to the ground.

Bihr grabbed the present and followed Stonn across the hall into a service stairwell. The over wrought décor giving way to more comforting Andorian Neo-Classical architecture. They did not pass many people. The occasional Normal Human in brilliant red uniforms.

Bihr kept her gaze down and whispered, "I believe the ion storm caused a surge in the transporter circuits, which created a brief interdimensional contact with a parallel reality at the exact same time our duplicates were transporting in the same location." She did not say that Fisher had altered the device on the transporter designed to prevent just such an event. It was not the time for that and if they returned, she must deal with Fisher on her own.

Her skin crawled with every level they went down. She forced herself to calm herself by noting the shift in styles. Neo-Classical had given way to Post-Urban tunnel design. She thanked all the lectures from Khel over the years. "We must be headed to the cave system beneath the city."

"You have a good eye," said Stonn. "Which is in keeping with your reputation. It was a dangerous gambit trusting an enforcer, and one with Commander Donovan's history with the Khanate at that, but an effective way through the security forces around the planet. But I am curious. Why did you bring the omega? He has some genetic value to our overlords, but would be unlikely to assist us."

"He's a doctor," said Bihr faintly.

"Unlikely," said Stonn.

Watson said as calm as if he was walking through on the Bakerstreet with friends, "You have T'ka condition. Not uncommon in Vulcans living below ground. An hour a day under a red sun lamp and two cc of copper, and the rash on your arm will clear up. So, when she say's I'm a doctor, believe it."

"Fascinating," said Stonn, who offered nothing else until they reached the cave system. At times, Bihr felt like she was recreating the act of being born, crawling through narrow tunnels. At other times, they were climbing up and down thin rope ladders with inky drops expanding beyond them into the dark.

Finally, they came to a narrow space where an Andorian, with a than's spicy scent, pointed a Klingon disruptor at them.

Stonn said, "The bird flies at midnight."

"And snatches her prey," was the thaan's reply.

The thaan lowered his disruptor. They went by him into a long narrow chamber lined with supplies.

Commodore Lestrade was there, but it could not be him. Far from the commanding presence she had encountered before, he was unshaven and rumpled. His stained clothing smelled strongly of visits through a sewer system. He said, "Any problems, Stonn?"

"None. The sub-consul hardly looked at me once I established myself as a servitor."

A chaan, missing his left antennae, said, "We should stop wasting time with these petty games. It's time to strike a blow for our freedom while they are distracted with the prince's tantrums."

"Which we are doing with Sh'Alaack's help," said Lestrade calmly.

"Agreed," said Stonn. "Premature action, while typical of an Andorian, will not win victory."

The chaan snarled and for a moment, Bihr thought they might come to blows, but Lestrade pushed them apart.

Lestrade said, "Sh'Alaack, we've prepared everything you asked for. We have a route for you into the palace and a cover identity. Newly captured shen, you'll be assigned as a servitor. There's a replicator on level five that has had the safeties turned off."

"Will you really be able to build a bomb from what you can replicate from a standard urban unit?" said the chaan.

Bihr could feel the air of the cavern close around her. Blood draining along with her ability to respond. She was not whoever they thought she was.

Ishros, her sweet Ishros, rose from a shadow to say, "Of course. Do you doubt the heroic soul whose thunderous will toppled the Khanate stronghold in London? She is the reason that the Khan himself retreated to his floating palace to cower in fear."

"The Khan dropped a dirty nuclear on London to finish what his monster of a Mother did not," said a Human, who was missing his left arm. She could not help but notice that many of the Maquis were missing parts of themselves.

Ishros, who was not her sweet Ishros, said to Bihr, "You do not know me. I have not your noble deeds, but know that you inspire those of us hiding below the ground. To know that you are free. Fighting for our people. Willing to make the ultimate sacrifice." He came over slowly. Hesitantly. "Filling us with the knowledge we must be willing to do the same."

Bihr put her hands on his shoulders without hesitation. "I am sure that you do yourself a disservice. It is good to meet you." She rested her forehead against his in greeting. Because she needed to ground herself. Even if that ground was sand.

"Who's the omega?" asked Lestrade. "Your message said you’d be bringing a valuable package, but feral omegas aren’t exactly uncommon. If he goes into the palace, then he's just fuck bait, if you'll pardon my Klingon."

"I'm a doctor. I'm here to help where I can," said Watson without a trace of confusion. She envied his ability to speak with such confidence.

Especially in the face of the cavern's laughter. "And I'm Khan Brittanus risen from the grave," said Lestrade, "Where did I put my head?"

Unexpectedly, Stonn said, "He has as least some medical knowledge."

"I was there to help deal with Donovan if she went off script," said Watson. "Also, Sh'Alaack said you could use some medical assistance. You know what with the plan. Speaking of which, could you repeat the plan back to Sh'Alaack." He grinned as if they hadn't just been asked to make a bomb using a home replicator unit, but then he hadn't. Bihr had. "That way we know if all the information made it to you."

"Good thinking," said Lestrade. He outlined a frankly horrifying plan for Bihr to infiltrate the palace of the Imperial Prince ruling Andor, where all the Andorian shen were being kept as servants. Hostages against rebellion by the greater Andorian population."

She couldn’t decide if that meant the palace was so very large, or that the Andorian population was in deep trouble if there were so few shen left.

"But I don't understand how you'll use the bomb to help get them out," said Watson.

Bihr almost pitied Watson for what he had not understood in that moment. She had been sinking beneath the weight of what Lestrade was saying as an ice runner sinks beneath a frozen lake. "They don't propose to rescue them," she said quietly.

"Your proposal," said Ishros. "While the shen are held in the palace, Andor holds out hope for a next generation. When that hope is gone, rather than fading away, we will rise up to light the torch of freedom across the galaxy."

Another shove beneath the surface to hear those words from those lips.

"Do you think you can figure out how to get us home?" whispered Watson.

"I… yes, with the right equipment," said Bihr faintly. She was a slender anchor upon which to rest faith.

With Ishros beaming upon her, she felt doubly an imposter.


	3. Sally Donovan's POV

Sally woke up with a stun headache, which was her second least favorite kind of headache. She and the alpha from before were standing up when fucking Owen Treggennis marched in wearing an even shinier and more pompous sash than the arse next to her. He was also sporting a pencil mustache. Always the sign of a complete douche.

Owen was soon backed up by about twenty Normal Humans in red leather uniforms carrying fucking laser spears looking like a squad of ketry freaks jonesing for their next fix, which was not her favorite look on people with weapons.

Owen said, "Where's the pet that was brought in?"

"Gone, clearly," said the alpha straightening his sash. "Some crazy Maquis showed up here to save the terrorist Donovan brought in, and got a pet in the bargain. But isn't the city pound a little down market for the Prince's kennel master? I thought the palace only accepted alphas and omega certified eight-five percent or higher for breeding. Although," he sniffed, "You are just a jumped unaligned Inferior not even able to do that duty."

"I have been elevated by grandfather. Recognized as a member of the 23rd Alignment. I am also not on thin ice, which is where you are standing." Owen looked at the alpha with the most un-Owen like look of disdain that Sally could imagine. "Didn't you look at the DNA profile of the pet that was brought in?"

"Nothing much to look at. Mutt. Genes from three of the old Khanates. Attractive enough, but getting too old to breed."

"That would be a no," said Sally, who was enjoying this just a bit. The rush of adrenalin that came from a mission. Staying one step ahead. "Fucking moron. I showed up and all he could focus on was insulting me."

"That," said Owen sharply, "was the Prince's lost pet."

The alpha went a funny sort of color. Bit greenish and grey. He held out his hands pleadingly. "Please, you have to intercede for me. My crèche can pay. The minerals from an asteroid or a pleasure palace on the home world."

"Why would they? For failing to do the one thing, the one thing, that every Breen running a reclamation facility like this has been commanded to do. And now Prince William's pet has been lost. Again."

Owen snapped his fingers and the guards slammed the butts of their spears on the floor. They shouted, "Sir!"

"Take him to the Prince. He'll want to talk to the alpha who lost his beloved John. If he's lucky, the Prince will simply have his executioner kill him. If not… our Prince can be very creative."

The alpha made a break for it sprinting impossibly fast towards the door.

He was brought down by laser blast from a spear tip that separated his leg from the rest of him. Cauterized the wound. Donovan flinched. She should have figured that a universe where the Khans took over some part of the Federation would be fucked, but she'd been distracted by the stupid sash into thinking it was all a bit of an adventure. Not a mistake she'd make again.

The guards picked up the screaming alpha and his leg, and carried him away.

Owen turned his attention on Sally. "The palace received your message requesting reinstatement in return for what you were bringing in. If you had been more specific, then the Prince would have been here personally and all this unpleasantness could have been avoided."

Sally shrugged. "I didn't want my message," and wasn't this just playing without a fucking net, "to be intercepted."

"Wise, given even that meager information was in fact intercepted." Owen looked at the heat scar on the floor. "The Maquis are emboldened by my master's distraction."

Sally rubbed her head. "Noticed just a bit."

Owen cracked the first smile she'd seen out of him. "I see why Khan Brittanus favored you."

And didn't that just make her skin crawl. Wherever the fuck she was, it was a rabbit hole of fucked up.

"I have no authority outside the Royal Seraglio, but I'm sure grandmother will agree that," Owen looked her over narrowly, "it's in all our best interests for the Prince's mood be lifted by the return of his favorite. He's disdained every other pet insisting that he have his John or nothing."

Sometimes Sally had to wonder just what the fuck John Watson had going on between the sheets. Because between Fleet gossip, the way Holmes went on when John was in danger, and now this evil universe prince, clearly it was some kind of crazy making wonderful.

"I caught him once. I can catch him again. I'll just need the resources," said Sally.

"As I said, it's in all our best interests if he's returned to the prince," said Owen. "You were assigned inferior reclamation duty after… your fall from grace. Stay off the ketry and find the Prince's pet before he has the Executioner fire up the anti-matter chambers for all of us."

Soon, Sally found herself in a control room with full access to all the cities cameras, sensor arrays in multiple sectors, and no response when she tapped her com. Which made sense. Andorian architecture burrowed into the ground not up, which was hell on com signals.

Still, it did give her a chance to look up just what the fuck had happened to Andor. To the Federation. To Earth.

As it turned out, the Khans had fucked a whole lot of things up.


	4. Sherlock's POV

It had been hours since Billy had sent a message saying that John hadn't arrived.

Still more time wasted discovering that on leaving the Andorian transporter station in Freedom Plaza, they'd gotten into some sort of altercation. Attempted to steal a land transport.

The Andorian local government refused to release John and Donovan, claiming that they'd attacked and seriously injured several people. They wouldn't even let him speak to John, claiming that he'd been placed in solitary confinement for the safety of the other prisoners.

While Sh'Alaack had been taken to a psychiatric facility. Sherlock had cut off the Detective, who'd insisted that sometimes the results of childhood trauma could take years to manifest.

Idiot.

He needed to get to John. There were hundreds, thousands, of possible explanations. If he could see John, run a scan on him, talk to him, then he would know. Knowing would lead to clearing John's name and earning his freedom.

It took some hours to study the night shift schedule. Simulate a home emergency for one of the two officers assigned to monitor the cell an hour into their shift. Leaving them shorthanded.

Sherlock dressed in black. It suited his mood. If not entirely appropriate for blending into brightly lit rooms. Still, he avoided the single guard easily. The lock on the room where John was being held was trivial to hack.

However, the cell behind the force field was empty, which at first was a relief. Since it implied that John had escaped under his own power. However, after backtracking to the on-site server room, he found that he was not the first person to infiltrate the facility.

John had been taken by an organization with the capability of fielding a team of operatives with diverse skills into a secure facility.

His primary clue was the intrusion detection system (IDS) that had not alerted when a line of code had been uploaded onto the server for the cafeteria replicators. The code itself was nothing unique. A commonly used algorithm meant to take advantage of systems where the Admin password had not been changed from the default value. Since the cafeteria servers were within the internal and completely unsegmented network, whoever had access to one system had had complete access to the entire network from the moment John and Donovan arrived.

Sherlock knew that Sh'Alaack would never have allowed such a case of criminally negligent network architecture on the Bakerstreet.

Nor would Chin, or even Hatherley during his thankfully brief stint as chief of engineering on the Bakerstreet.

But bad engineering was not the reason the intrusion detection system had not barked in the night for the original hack. But that did get Sherlock to thinking.

He applied his own algorithm and found what he had expected.

An omega, who worked in craft services, was from Beta Aurigae, and had logged into her account while Sherlock had been arguing with the Andorian detective. So, not just an organization that could field operatives, but one that had operatives already in place in major Federation population centers.

Which meant he had the rather odd challenge of breaking into the Breen embassy.


	5. Mirror John

Everything was wrong.

John's heart still ached from his failure to save his children from their fate using the Guardian of Forever. Months searching for it. Only to have the Guardian tell him that the point time that his children had gone back to was too unstable to allow him to follow. That he would be unable to force Sherlock to do what they should have done in the first place.

Leaving only the surprising revelation that without his intervention Sherlock would die in the past.

Even with how angry he was, he'd still gone back to save Sherlock.

Oh, he'd indulged himself for several rounds of going back in time and killing every member of Sherlock's family who had hurt them. Gotten in their way. But who wouldn't do that given the chance. Since each murder had resulted in timelines where the Borg destroyed the Khanate, timelines where Sherlock and John were confined by Mycroft to a prison on Elba II, or the intolerable one where Sherlock had been bred with John's twin, Harry, to produce what the Khans had promised the Breen. At least the Guardian showed John a sort of black cloud of butterflies following Sherlock in that dimension.

John allowed the timeline to resume its normal path.

He'd allowed it.

He'd allowed Sherlock's brilliance to shine and save Earth from the Borg. To expand the empire.

Everything resting in the power of his decisions. Except the one decision that should have been allowed John.

But he must have done something wrong, because the 6th Alignment, the very alignment that had supported the Khan's conquest of Earth, thought themselves free to kidnap him. As if he were a common pet. As if he were common.

The 6th Alignment flunky said, "First Mother, your research indicates that you are close to understanding the root of our problems. It's possible that… are you certain that you do not want to put on the clothing that we brought you?"

John eyed the rags in a neat pile on the table. While clothing was occasionally useful for concealing weapons, he found no need for them now. Clothing would only interfere with the only course left to him.

He was contemplating how best to murder the flunky and leave, when a vaguely familiar looking alpha woman came into the room. She said, "Vashatet, your alignment has overstepped its authority."

"Khan Brittanus is no closer to resolving our problem despite decades of analysis."

John snorted, because that was just typical. While Brittanus wouldn't be solving any problems other than decomposition, the Khans had quite spectacularly resolved the Breen's central problem by out sourcing the solution to Earth's Augments and then just as spectacularly failed to admit what that solution meant.

The alpha turned to him. "John, I'm sorry about all this. When Billy told me you'd gone missing, I came as soon as I could."

John glared at the alpha. "Take me to Sherlock." Then in case yet they were a typically inbred Superior. "Or he will be very annoyed with you," and raised his eyebrows to let them reflect on what that meant.


	6. John's POV

"You don't have to do this if you're not up to it." John wasn't sure how they would come up with access to a replicator or the parts needed to do whatever techy thing Sh'Alaack needed to build, but they'd figure it out if they had to.

"I am… as you say… up with doing what must be done," said Sh'Alaack about as convincingly as her son Shor had been when he claimed that he hadn't been messing around with the gravity in the cargo bay when he came in with a broken arm, but John pretended to be convinced.

"The Maquis are moving me to a refugee encampment," he said unnecessarily. She'd been there when not-Lestrade said that John was too much of a liability to keep with the Maquis. It was the sort of repetition that would have Sherlock snapping. He ached thinking of Sherlock. Another reality away.

Sh'Alaack said, "I will contact you through the communicator when my place is secure at the palace." Neither of them said that she might be found out almost immediately. Neither of them said anything about Ishros and Lestrade's doppelgangers or speculated on their own. There were a lot of things they weren't saying

They awkwardly nodded each other before parting down separate tunnels.

Not-Lestrade led him back out of the cave system and into the equally underground complex of an Andorian city.

Given how casually Lestrade was acting, John asked, "Aren't you worried that I'll lead the Empire to the Rebel base if I'm caught?"

"Not so much," said not-Lestrade. He gave John a long droll look, so much like the actual Lestrade that John almost could believe it was him. "Not that the Secret Police couldn't break any of us like a twig. But given where Sh'Alaack is going, we're moving our operations in case her identity isn't as solid as Ishros thinks."

"Oh, well, good." John didn't want to think about how not-Lestrade and company would respond when they found out that Sh'Alaack hadn't so much blown up anything. He felt a bit like this was the part where he was supposed to say something inspiring and convince not-Lestrade that blowing up a building with about ten thousand people – evil oppressive people and all that was left of an entire Andorian gender – wasn't the way to do things. But he was fresh out of speeches.

They parted ways in a rundown apartment building. Below ground as most Andorian architecture was.

John went inside. The arch of what once had been a grand lobby was packed wall to wall with beds and people. Telarites. Caitian. Bolians. Races from all over the Federation. Fewer Andorians than he would have thought what with this being their planet.

Still, he had to think it wasn't a coincidence that of all people, he spotted not-Khel and not-Shroeb with a ten year old shen girl, who wasn't nearly as deep a blue as she ought to be.

He went over to them tentatively. Familiar faces and all that. Suddenly glad that Sh'Alaack wasn't there to see yet another version of her family looking so thin and tired.

"Hey, there. I'm new. Is there a place I can settled down?" He held up the small bag full of the contents of Sh'Alaack's package. He was glad that Sh'Alaack's kids had wanted to give their grandmother treats from around the galaxy and handmade blanket, and not something less useful.

Khel looked at him suspiciously. "Why are you here, Human? Turn yourself in so you can be bred by our masters and leave us in peace."

"No, doesn't sound like my speed," said John. He gave it another try. "You're Khel right? Ishros told me to look you up."

Khel pulled away from him, holding her child close to her. "We want nothing to do with him. We could still have a place in the upper levels if it weren't for him. All we had to do was keep our heads down and pretend our daughter, Eyissa, is a zhen. None of our people would have betrayed us. But no, he had to attempt to make some reckless gesture."

"Papa Ishros?" said the little shen. "You saw, papa? Is he well?"

"Looked right as um… snow," said John. "And he thinks a lot about you." Could be true.

"Then you did not meet Ishros," said not-Shroeb.

John wasn't going to push the point. He left them to look for a quiet place closer to the surface.

He was able to open a connection with Donovan. Just about. Static and all. "Sh'Alaack has a plan to get us back," he whispered loudly into the communicator.

"Great," a string of static, "underground," replied Donovan.

"What was that?" John resisted the urge to shout into the com. Holding it next to his ear instead.

"Prince… balls… fucking..." which could mean anything given Donovan.

"What?"

"Hide." That at least was clear. They ended the communication leaving John feeling about as useful as an extra for a one-person play.

He went back to the places where people were gathered. Offered to check the bleeding sores of a Bolian and typical of his race, Mr. Mott had a lot to say. It was good to know there were some constants in reality.

He got a picture of what had happened as he worked.

Almost four decades before, three Khans from Earth's insane history, Mr. Mott emphasized the word insane three times with only a small hiss as John cleaned a wound, had shown up on Earth with a Breen fleet, insanely advanced technology, and destroyed Starfleet bases around Earth orbit, the Moon, and Mars. They simultaneously released a recombinant virus that dropped Andorian reproduction rates to nothing without Breen intervention, and announced they'd seeded Vulcan with planet killing bombs. In return for a case by case cure and the promise not to blow up Vulcan, the Khans claimed a massive chunk of the Federation connecting back to Breen space.

Not that they accomplished this entirely on their own.

The Khans had allied with the Cardassians and the Romulans to carve up Federation territory. While what remained solidified behind new borders. Deanna Troi, a half Human-Betazed refugee had a good many details about all of it. Her mother, a prominent Betazed politician, had advocated for Human resettlement in Nu-Federation territories, and fell in love with the Human transporting the refugees. Human Normals only. She'd glanced at him worriedly. "The Khans didn't allow anyone with so much as a drop of Augment genetics to leave their territory. As you know."

John smiled and hoped she'd fill in more details, which only made her look at him in a baffled sort of way.

In any case, the various fleets had applied enough pressure to carve the heart out of the Federation, which had struggled on much reduced in territory.

Life had gone on. Until some twenty years ago, the Khanate had exploded with activity. Beginning an outward expansion that had yet to stop.

Then a little more than a decade ago, there had been an insane palace coup – again Mr. Mott's description – after a secret psychic princess telepathically imploded on Betazed and had the planet committing mass suicide. Deanna's description of feeling the emotions of her mother's death was harrowing.

Sounded like Euros had been a teenager when she'd unleashed her angst on a world of psychics.

Mr. Mott, who'd heard the story before, pushed in with a story about the secret prince raised in the moons of Ferenginar, who the new Khan had freed from some sort of obligation, which sparked a brief nine-day war among the Breen, before Prince William had been setup in a nice palace on Andor to make weapons and fight wars for his brother. "Lots of them," said Deanna dully.

Here, a Trill, Ezri, broke in to clarify that the prince was only raised on one of the moons. Ezri also appeared to argue with herself a good deal so there was that.

"Was the prince who gave himself a promotion to Khan also a secret?" asked John as he checked a teenage Telarite's fever.

"No," said Mr. Mott flatly. "We all knew about him."

"I met the Khan once," said Deanna dully. "There was a proposal that as my Mother was the daughter of the Fifth House, holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed that he and my older sister should marry." Deanna eyes were focused on something in the middle distance of regret and her mother's suicide. "I wonder sometimes if she hadn't rejected him, if Betazed would have been spared."

John was glad he wasn't empathic like Deanna or he'd be drowning in the pain bubbling around him.

That night, he wrapped himself in his cozy blanket and prepared for a fitful sleep full of dreams of burning worlds.


	7. Bihr Sh'Alaack's POV

Bihr did not feel up to being a spy. In an alternative reality. She wished that John was the one who'd been greeted by every Maquis as some sort of savior.

She wasn't abandoning her people if she went home. The other Bihr would return and step into the place that she'd left. That Bihr would meet this Ishros and… it hurt to see him so wounded. When she'd asked about his bondmates, he'd flinched. "They thought if we simply lay down, the Khan would leave us be. They don't see what I do."

"Which is?"

"The same thing you see." Ishros looked down the twisting corridor. "Our world has become an empty shell to be filled by other species. We were dying off before the Khans infected us. My daughter, she was born of begging our captors. Shortly before all our shen was taken entirely." He moistened dry lips. "If you see Eshess Sh'Evhaavoss, let her know that I love her. That I hold her in my heart."

Bihr did not flinch. She did not ask if she was to say this before or after she killed everyone in the palace including the shen. Including Eshess.

He continued, "Please, tell me that you will kill the prince yourself. Do it before you use the bomb."

She said softly, "The mission comes first."

Ishros sighed, but seemed placated.

This was what became of her sweet poet when their world fell apart. Of course, Khel and Shroleb would leave for the good of the child. Except, she didn't know them. She didn't know the other version of herself.

She said goodbye to Ishros at a corridor junction that used to lead to a mall. Was guided by a Human through a gate, who accepted some sort of small bag from Ishros. Bihr could scent the Ketry weed in the bag.

Her collar was scanned multiple time at multiple gates. She did her best to still her antennae. But none seemed to question whatever identity they read from it. The collar did an excellent job of hiding her com.

Eventually, finally, she was led to a barracks full of shen and assigned a bed. A shen looked at her. "Didn't think there were any shen left who weren't in the Palace."

Bihr raised her chin and tried to think of what Watson or Donovan would say. "There aren't."

That earned a chuckle.

"I'm…" and for a moment couldn't remember her assigned name, before recalling it and giving it to her new acquaintance.

Was told, "I'm Eshess Sh'Evhaavoss," in return.

Bihr had heard many things about Eshess over the years. Her beauty. Her brilliant mind. Her adventuring spirit. She looked at the ghost of her lovers' lost love and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Eshess snorted.

"No, I…" she looked around her. "I met someone you know. Ishros."

Eshess clamped her fingers around Bihr's wrist. "Don't say that name here."

But Bihr had been assigned a task and she might not be brilliant or beautiful, but she finished what she was assigned to do. "He wanted me to tell you he loves you and holds you in his heart."

Eshess looked at her incredulously. "It was the attack he led that is the reason the Khan ordered all of us rounded up." Her expression shifted to suspicion. "This isn't one of his wild plans is it? I swear, he acts like a Human sometimes."

"No, he was trying to help me get off planet." Bihr tapped her collar. "It didn't work. I'm sorry. I thought you'd want to know someone out there thinks about you. I…" it was a risk given how badly she was already doing, "I met Khel and Shroleb too."

"At the same time as Ish, I doubt it." She looked down. "Was our daughter well?"

"Yes," said Bihr, because Khel and Shroleb in any reality would do all they could to protect their children.

"Tell me they weren't trying to get her off planet. They can't trust Ish."

"No, I… I saw them and they still love you. You will always have a place in their heart."

"I'd say they should move on and forget me, but," Sh'Evhaavoss looked around the barrack. "Every shen on the planet is here. Course," she quirked her lips, "If you were out there, maybe there's someone for them. Hiding in an ice cave or something."

"Or something."

Their conversation ended as an alpha came into the room and Bihr was assigned duties.

She worked quietly through the morning and afternoon, clearing detritus from a seemingly infinite series of offices. Federation or Khanate, governments ran on bureaucracy, and that meant garbage and recycling. She was a little surprised by the green bins, which were to be gathered for worms to eat the organic waste.

"Oh, the Prince's favorite pet like's real things," said another of the servitors. "Food grown in the ground. Real meat from an animal, not vat grown or replicated. It's the reason the palace is under such a large force shield. It's not because the Prince worries about being attacked, it's because he ordered gardens and orchards be built to give his favorite and their offspring all the real things they desire." The shen held up a green bin. "And when the human assigned to this office eats, whatever this is," her antennae curled away from the sharp spicy scent, "we gather it to feed the gardens."

Another shen said bitterly, "Even though that favorite decided to run away." Then looked frightened at her own words, glancing around the room. She spoke up towards a black sphere on the ceiling. "Was taken away. And who will soon be returned to the Prince's loving arms."

It was a good warning to know that this level was watched.

"Does the prince have many children?"

Eshess snorted and said quite simply, "Yes."

It took her some time before she understood what Eshess meant. At the time, she was merely grateful to have finally been assigned to the fifth level and the hacked replicator.

Once she had a tricorder hidden in a compost bin, she volunteered to take the cart out to the above ground facility. Eshess told her, "Doing extra won't gain you their favor. They only know how to take."

Bihr twitched her antennae in acknowledgment and pushed the bin into the lift. Even the service exit from the palace was grand. A human guard acknowledged her as she went out the wide door, but Eshess had been right about the force field. A mild yellow glow curved over the entire facility keeping out the environment beyond.

Somewhere outside it, she knew that fierce cold winds blew across the landscape of home. Within was mild and warm. Flowers bloomed along the exterior of a building itself carved with a profusion of stone flowers. "Don't dawdle," said the guard, but his tone was as mild as the air.

Eshess followed the directions past a wide curving track to a bin. She'd have expected it to stink of refuse, but instead it smelled of forest leaves and loam. Far from any overhead camera, she tapped her com three times.

"About fucking time!" Donovan came over the com.

Bihr said, "I'm a servitor in the palace. Long story. I have access to a replicator and am working on a way home."

"Good. Keep me posted. If you contact Watson, tell him to keep his head down. The prince running this part of this fucking freakshow is hot for his arse."

"Who are you talking to?" asked a child's voice.

Bihr turned. There were several small augmented humans, who based on seeing Eva at the same age were between the ages of seven or eight. She had trouble telling human faces apart at times, but they might be related. They came in several shades of brownish pink.

"The worms." She pointed at the bin.

"And they answer back. I don't believe you," said one of the children, an alpha.

"Bored," said another, an omega. Most of the children wandered off as if by some signal. Bihr saw that there were dozens of children of all ages running around the track.

But her questioner, persistent as a child could be, remained. Their gaze reminded her of something, but she could not quite place what or who it was. She tried to imagine what Donovan or Watson would do, but found nothing. Instead, there was the bloom of a thought. She pulled out the tricorder and scanned the bin. She held it in front of the child. "See. Worms. They're consuming the refuse and producing compost."

The child took the tricorder in their hands. With a few deft turns of the controls, they were scanning the grass under their feet. The rows of gardens beyond. Bihr. "You're different," said the child.

"I'm just the same as anyone."

"No," said the child, holding the tricorder carefully. "You're not supposed to have this." They looked at Bihr just as carefully. "Did Mummy send you?"

"I don't know who your Mother is," said Bihr. She should be terrified by the conversation. She'd already revealed too much. "Is your mother here?"

The child laughed. "You're funny. Daddy says that he doesn't love us anymore, but that if we train extra hard, maybe he'll want us again." The child rocked back and forth on their feet. "I broke into our menagerie last night and went into the leopard's den."

"Oh," said Bihr thrown by this sudden turn in the conversation. "That was a dangerous thing to do."

A smile broke across the child's face. "That's why I did it. To make Mummy come back, but he didn't. The leopard didn't do anything either." The child turned the tricorder this way and that. "Are you a person?"

"Yes." A quicksand conversation. Bihr itched take back the tricorder. But at least the child hadn't repeated their first question.

"I thought so. My teachers say you're not. Not like we are, but I've been thinking that doesn't make any sense. My teacher is stupid. Most people are. You're probably stupid, but Daddy says people can't help it. So it's good to know if you're a person." The child tossed the tricorder to her and ran away, to be absorbed into the pack of running children.

Bihr went inside and put away the bin. She noticed as she went that the wide elegant rooms above ground were not monitored and filled with all manner of works of art from across the galaxy. As if a hoarding cordu bird had grabbed every shiny object in sight. It was possible, she would be able to hide a device to replicate the ion storm's effect in plain sight. 

Provided, she looked through the curving windows at children playing some sort of game with flags, a child didn't look at it too closely.


	8. Sally Donovan's POV

Evil Owen was a persistent prick, and that grandfather of his wasn't much better. It made Sally's skin crawl when she realized that the fucker bothering her every ten minutes was one of Khan Brittanus' crew. Part of the reason he'd wanted to blown up half of London City Center to try and save him. Had her father blow it up in exchange for saving her life.

Sally repeated, "I am looking. Prince Willy lost his pet over a year ago and lost his shite. You want to get him laid, so he lays off killing people and goes back to inventing ways to kill people."

"It's slightly more delicate than that," said Grendel, because the fucker was so pretentious he'd fucking named himself Grendel, the prick. "My grandson, darling as he is," which must be love talking to find evil Owen lovable, "is unaware of the greater implications of the Prince's malaise. But as you were once well in Khan Brittanus' favor, you must understand strategic implications of a Khanate that stops expanding its grip upon its territories."

Sally didn't really give a fuck about some prince's blue balls, beyond the part where the Federation was now overrun by augmented fuckers, who were fucking everything up.

"The walls have ears," said Sally to shut him up.

"Then let's simply say that the Khan is expressing his increasing impatience."

Although, since word in the mess hall, which no matter the dimension was full of gossip, that fine flower of augmentation never left his floating palace around Earth after a spree of patricide, matricide, and fratricide, so again with the no fucks.

Her only fuck was to do the opposite of what Grendel wanted her to do.

Sally wasn't a tech like Sh'Alaack and she wasn't a liability like Watson. She tried to bury rumors about Watson's location. Unfortunately, she was only one woman and with word that Prince Willy was offering a small moon so he could get his wee willy wet again, rumors kept flooding in.

She went on a raid. Scooped up some scared Andorians. A lot more scared migrants from all over the sector. It seemed that people were flooding into the few worlds that weren't in the middle of a war, which ironically included this one.

Sally did what she could. Let the runners run. Missed a lot of shots.

But when she found herself looking at a duplicate of Shroleb, Sh'Alaack's bondmate, short of shooting him, there was no way to stop him from saying, "I know where the prince's pet is. An old acquaintance came to get him yesterday. If I tell you where they are, will you let us go?" He was holding a thin little girl. Could be his. Might not be. Scanner indicated the kid was a shen, and should be apprehended to take to the palace. Course, as Legless had told her on day one, her only priority was rounding up omegas.

If she'd been alone, she'd have ignored him. With a half dozen troops, she did her best. Tapped her com and asked him to repeat what he'd said. Hoped that Sh'Alaack could get word to Watson.


	9. John's POV

John woke from a fitful sleep to not-Ishros looming over him. "Did she know who you were? Did she betray the cause?" Not-Ishros kicked John, who had already felt like warmed over death, aching from what he was pretty sure was a flu. Probably caught at the conference and brought into a new reality. "Everyone knows you're the one who whispered in the Prince's ear. You’re the one who told him to round up the shen."

John tried to push himself up, but was pulled off balance by not-Lestrade. "We don't have time for you to question the Prince's breeder," said not-Lestrade. "You can do that later when we're sending parts of him back to his master." More hands grabbed hold of John and hauled him into the twisting corridors. He had a jumble of impressions that only cleared when they came out into the Andorian surface.

John shouted over the wind, "What happened?"

"We figured out who you were," said not-Lestrade. John was thrown into the back of a glide unit.

John tried to clear his head with the bracing cold air and the dark night sky above. In the distance, he heard the thump, thump, thump of some sort of craft. John looked at not-Lestrade, squeezing every ounce of speed out of the craft. In a frying pan and fire sort of situation, he slipped over the side onto the ice and ran across the ice to the six of the path the glide unit was taking.

Maybe if the ships following them hadn't been blazing enough lights to make a new sun, he might have made it. As it was, he came face to face with Sally, looking like a warrior woman in leather armor and some sort of spear weapon. Standing next to him was not-Owen sporting a prickish looking mustache. Not-Owen yelled, "Stun him. Don't shoot him."

John didn't so much fall unconscious from the stun that hit him as fell into a sort of dazed slump. He felt himself picked up as if it was happening through layers of thirty layers of cotton. He was eventually dumped on a sort of lounging bed. Wherever he was, it was a pleasure craft. He sank into the cushions. Velvet plush under his fingers. Rich colors rioting in front of his blinking eyes. Scents of leather and ambergris twisting on beams of light from the latticed lanterns. A rising headache.

A lot of arguing.

Not-Owen said, "I don't have the facilities to get him ready here. He needs to be ready. Perfect. Not a drooling doll. The Prince is on his way. He's very eager to reclaim his pet."

John extended a shaky bow finger at not-Owen and pushed himself up on one elbow. "Fugit."

"But I am very eager," said a smoky voice. Leather voice. Whiskey voice. Intoxicating his ears. Sherlock came into the room in a black and silver doublet like a later day Hamlet followed by some dozen Humans in red and gold armor. Sherlock wore a stiff white ruff around that gorgeous neck of his the better to frame his face. Longer hair. Wild and wounded look in those changeable eyes. That and the short beard kind of gave away that John wasn’t looking at his Sherlock.

He was looking at John just like Sherlock would.

Sherlock might not have swept him into an embrace in front of everyone, bending his face into his neck, pressed frantic kisses over John's face, while saying, "Missed you. Missed you. Missed you. Lost without you. I've been so lonely. Why did you go? I know why. You were angry with me. Stupid question. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But you're here now. Never going to let you go." More velvet octopus squeeze. "I'll take such good care of you. How could you leave me? You knew how much I needed you."

He put John down, who was thinking a steady stream of "I am so fucked."


	10. Sally Donovan's POV

Sally's legs felt like sausages in her ridiculous leather pants and she was sweating like a targ. That wasn’t actually important, but she just felt like a pretentious git.

She was surrounded by fucking jacked up Humans making like Renfield, because over the infinitely long night since the Krazyverse Shroleb ratted out Watson, she'd finally found out what was in that drug that everyone kept talking about.

Fucking extracts from Augment blood. Probably the same thing Brittanus had given her father to cure her.

As they left the city, Evil Owen hypoed everyone in the Royal Guard personally with a stash in a fucking oak box with fucking gemstones on it. Sort of sneered at her as she stepped back from him. "I would have thought you'd be eager to have your fix. You can't have had any real Kettry since," he smiled that really annoying evil smile that just looked so strange on Owen's face, "the end of the old Khans' reign and the beginning of the new."

She eyed the hypo. "Black market shite all over this verse."

One of the guards twitched. Sure sign he was getting black market blood junk on the side.

"The true promise of becoming like an Augment can only be delivered from the Khan's hand," intoned the guards in a way that made her arse twitch.

Evil Own smoothed the waxed lines of his mustache. "All else is false promises certain to have side effects."

Swishy Cape Number One, Evil Owen's flunky currently holding the drug box said, "The first thing the Khans did upon recovering mastery of the Human genome was establish a genetic registry of Humans so they might know what riches were theirs."

Swishy Cape Number One was an alpha from somewhere in the North America. Near as she could tell, he'd started out a pet and gotten promoted to Swishy Capedom by knocking up some Breen. Or a Breen's machine. She had the impression that there had been machine babies or something. He kept going on about how three out of five had had all twenty-three of the required criteria to be considered Augment Superior, and of the two pets and at least one was good for Kettry.

He was a prick.

Evil Owen said, "All who may serve are," he'd slapped the hypo against her bicep and there was a hiss, "called to service the needs of the Khanate. Blood from our bodies…"

"Or flesh of our flesh," said Swishy Cape Number Two.

She immediately felt the effects. More three pots of coffee and a Dinosaur chasing her awake than fresh out of bed awake. But very awake. Everything felt sharper. It gave her a new spin on why Holmes spent all night in a lab blowing shite up or bounced off the walls during morning briefings.

Because, he had this stuff pumping in his veins all the time.

Because he wasn't just an Augment. He wasn't even just one of the Breen, who fuck Sally sideways, were some off brand Augments that needed Terran Augments for some reason to spawn. 

Oh, no. He was what the pretentious arseholes here called a true Augment Superior. One hundred percent pure bred out of the Khans' labs.

Sherlock Fucking Holmes was the Prince William that had had her running around looking for Watson's candied arse.

The Kettry still making her feel jittery as fuck, she felt a right bit of an idiot for not digging into what Willy looked like, but for fuck's sake she'd spent all her time running interference since she'd arrived. Sh’Alaack was living in the palace and she hadn't said anything.

Because if he was Prince Willy that meant that the freak was the son of Khan Brittanus. Which meant that back in her own reality, instead of Brittanus being so much ash at the bottom of a cryo-chamber, Brittanus and the other Khans had been alive enough to hammer out multiple children and wasn't that a swift kick in the vag.

She wouldn't precisely say that she liked Holmes, maybe she'd possibly grown fond of his fluffy haired spastics. Certainly, she'd grown to trust he could pull miracles out of his arse over the years.

But she'd spent a week with Git Grendel and Evil Owen filling her ears with all the fucking amazing shite Prince Willy had either invented or plain old used while off running the occasional war for his big brother, the current Khan.

It put a whole new spin on Holmes' creativity.

Not the best time to think about it though with Krazyverse Holmes clutching at Watson like Watson was his reason for being. So not much different there. He took a big sniff of Watson.

Krazyverse Holmes glared at evil Owen and said, "My John's scent is different. And these clothes? Why is he wearing them?"

"He was standing in the snow when we stunned him." Evil Owen's eyes widened, because the moron seemed to realize that wasn't the best thing to have said. He pointed at a guard. "It was her fault. She calibrated her staff too high." He followed up by drawing an ornately jeweled weapon and firing. The woman burned in a sizzle of heat even as she tried to turn that stupid ass spear weapon on him. Kettry reflexes did her no good as her crispyarse corpse fell to the ground with audible crunch that Sally was not going to think about. Evil Owen said, "Please, sire. We've taken the very best of care of your most precious pet since he's been here."

Krazyverse Holmes darted a brief glance at Watson, who was bristling with outrage if slightly listing. Not just stun groggy, but sort of waxy and pale. Paler. The only reason he appeared to still be standing was Holmes had a pretty tight arm wrapped around him.

Krazyverse Holmes kissed Watson's temple and did something she couldn't see. 

Evil Owen was outlined in a sort of black light that almost hurt the eyes to look at. An outline that crumpled inward as he opened his mouth in a silent scream that couldn't escape before he disintegrated. Holmes told the ashes, "You were in command. It was your responsibility." Krazyverse Holmes said to Swishy Cape Number Three, "Congratulations, you are now the new Kennel Master. Do better."

Swishy Cape Three bowed without even looking at the dust that had been a man. Stepping over the crispy corpse that was still smoking. "I am honored."

Watson cleared his throat and blinked at Sally, which since he looked like he'd been dragged backwards through a warp core, she had no idea what he was trying to tell her.

But the noise had Holmes turning Watson around to face him. "You're coughing. You're ill. You caught something from some vermin, because I wasn’t there to keep you healthy. The Maquis infected you. No." He sniffed John again. "You've been off world. Only recently returned. Did you… did you go," his cheeks went a little pink, "to the Guardian! To the Cave of the Ancestors?"

Watson's eyes widened. So the phrase meant something to him.

Krazyverse Holmes preened. "You did! I can tell. Does that mean you've forgiven me? Are you still angry?" Holmes rubbed John's shoulders and his expression turned utterly soppy. "I'll never forget when I learned it was you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it was just before we had Tertius and… you remember how it was."

Watson's brows lowered and he scowled at Krazyverse Holmes, who kept burbling. "Just as I'll always remember how you looked when Mummy first brought you home. Surrounded by other pets, you shone with fury. You stood there clothed only in your sister's blood, and took the collar from my hand. On fire the moment we touched. Insatiable. All consuming." He rested his hand on Watson's belly. There was a lull in the crazy before he went manic again. "You were happy enough when my brother first suggested they go. We wouldn't have had any time at all with Primus and Secundus if not for him. He brought you back to me after Mummy separated us… why can't you…no, I know. Of course. But so many of our Irregulars are here. Tertius to Decimus. Trois Primus is still here." He stared for a long time into Watson's eyes. Tears glistening in his eyes. Waiting for some cue Watson couldn't give.

Watson sat up. Pulled away from him, which had the Royal Guard looking more twitchy than she liked. Jacked up on magic blood was still jacked. He said, almost a whisper, "Sod off, you crazy wanker."

Krazyverse Holmes practically glowed with happiness. "I shouldn't have to sue to see my own dominions, my pet."

Watson shook his head. "Not your dominions, you giant tit."

Which seemed to delight Krazyverse even more. "If not mine, then whose? Tell me that." He twisted his hands in Watson's clothes and the fabric gave way. Sally looked around her, but no one seemed particularly surprised at this turn of events. Swishy Cape Number Two pulled his cape around him, but that was it. "

"There you are. Like the day we met."

Watson seemed about to punch Krazyverse Holmes, but stood down. Probably figuring what she did, the room was full of armed arseholes.

Which for whatever reason had Krazyverse Holmes barring his teeth at Watson. "Is it that you think you belong with him now? Maybe you think I didn't I'd find out that he helped you leave me. That you'd let him fuck you. I'll always find out. Always. I'll always find you. I'll always get you back."

Because Watson was an idiot, he said very slowly, "Took you a year and someone else had to do it for you. You had to have your brother help you last time. This time. Same as the first."

Krazyverse Holmes' eyes went wide with shock and you'd have thought Watson had told the man he fucked tribbles.

He sort of stared off into space. Pretty much like the regular Holmes did.

Everyone in the room primed their weapons. The tension in the room was like a headache. Sally decided fuck it. "Everyone stand down until his frea…Highness decides how he wants to play this."

Swishy Cape Number Three said, "Hold your tongue in the presence of your superiors. Without the Kettry…"

"I still would have found Watson because my head is not up my arse. Just saying that Prince Willy here hasn't told you to kill anyone yet, and he seems more than capable of making that call."

Krazyverse Holmes blinked. He tapped a few more commands on his wrist device. A transporter's golden waves shimmered over him and Watson, and they were gone.

Sally said, "For fuck's sake!" She glared at the soldiers around her. "I said stand down. Turn this thing around and head back to the city." She did not tug at the pants that were trying to slip the hell off her arse.

Swishy Cape Number Three didn't say anything while they did what she said, which meant he wasn't a complete idiot.


	11. John's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder to look at the tags re: Non-Con and pairings.

They rematerialized in a dimly lit room with a pool of stark light that illuminated a groaning figure strapped to a table.

John had been practicing medicine on the edges of space for many years. He'd seen much of the damage that could be done to a Human body. This was a new level of horrible. The Human's arms and genitals had been surgically removed. His body was marred with scars. His horror filled eyes were red rimmed. John vaguely recognized Victor Hatherly's face.

Not-Sherlock hissed, "I removed what he dared to touch you with." He leaned close to not-Hatherley, "he thought my brother wouldn't let me have him, because he belongs to the Khan." He bared his teeth. "But my brother loves me."

John looked at him. Horrified. Not wanting to look at the poor man on the table.

"Aren't you going to..don't you care?" Not-Sherlock's voice took an almost pleading tone. "I kept him alive so you could see him. See what I'd done to him here… in your place." He came around the other side. "My pet, what shall I do with him?"

John was a doctor. He'd spent his whole life treating illness. Saving lives. "I don't want to be responsible for killing this man, Sherlock." There was a tray not a meter away from John. There were all manner of surgical implements. Scalpels. He just needed to get close enough to one of them.

"You took his life in your hands when you… wait." A brilliant smile took over not-Sherlock's face. "You called me, Sherlock."

"Uhh…" said John trying to think. Wondering if that wasn't actually his name in this dimension.

"You haven't called me Sherlock since you changed your mind about what my brother had planned." He took John's hands in his turning them right and left. Kissing one and then the other. "You called me sir and master. Not just in front of… Here. In our nest. Never Sherlock. Wouldn't go with me on campaign. Wouldn't let me heal you. Even when you were… I know what you thought, but the Irregulars are safe." he glanced up at something on the ceiling, "My brother's done. He's done. He promised."

John had no idea what not-Sherlock was on about, but he got the jist. "Seems to me there's a man on a table that begs to differ on who's safe."

For whatever reason, that made not-Sherlock chuckle. He let go and paced away from John. Raking long fingers through his wildly curling hair. Tugging and twisting. Like Sherlock at the end of days without sleeping. Manic and on edge.

John took the opportunity to grab one of the scalpels. Holding it lightly in his fist so that the shaft of the handle was hidden by his wrist.

Not-Sherlock turned and landed up in front of John. "It wasn't my fault. Our Primus and Secundus wanted to go. I know they were young, but older than you when you had them." A quick glance up. "No. No. No. I… that's why you left. You're right. It was fear. I couldn't… you wouldn't have survived. You… I know it's the same arguments that made you so angry. Tell me saying my name means what I think it means." His expression was hopeful. Worried. Defensive. An expression John had seen on Sherlock's face time to time. When he'd said or done something a bit not good.

"I…" John pulled back. He had a stun hangover. The food from Sh'Alaack's package had run out days ago. He felt groggy and slow, and more than a bit turned around by Sherlock being not Sherlock.

"I missed you. I'll fix you." He rubbed against John in a very unmistakable way.

"Buggery fuck, Sherlock." John brought the scalpel up. Holding it against Not-Sherlock's groin. "We're not having sex."

Not-Sherlock quivered. His eyes wide. His breathing rapid and quick. Those eyes of his eyes almost silvery. John pressed down slightly. Given how sensitive that area of the body was, it had to hurt. Not-Sherlock gasped. His pupils dilated further. "Oh! Thank you." 

John stood there trying to think where to go from here.

A door opened. Brilliant yellow light briefly flooded the room. John didn't dare turn to look at whoever had come in. He told whoever it was, "May not seem like it, but this area of the body is a good way to exsanguinate. So, back off or you'll be down a prince."

"Put the scalpel down, son," said an achingly familiar voice. An achingly familiar scent. "We all know you won't use it. Not like that."

The scalpel fell from nerveless fingers as John turned to look at his father. Naked. Older than he'd gotten to be. They were both bare to their birthday suits and his father was alive. The same sorrowful expression he'd sometimes gotten on a long quiet evening when they'd been somewhere planetside. He hugged his father, naked be damned. "I missed you."

His father's arms wrapped around him. "I…" a quiet voice in his ear. "I didn't think you'd ever forgive me for not preventing Brittanus from taking Harry along with you. Almost twenty years of your anger."

John may have shaken just a little. He had no idea what this version of his father might have done in this universe of horrors, but he said, "It's good see you." He pulled away so he could really look at his father. Not his father, of course. But so dearly missed. He wanted to ask so many questions. But he had no way of knowing if this man's answers would be the same as his actual father's.

Not-Sherlock said, "Kodos, John's back. Isn't it wonderful?"

His father let John go slowly. "Yes, sire." His expression was complicated. "I was… very worried about him."

"Yes, fine. Good. Bored now. Dispose of Hatherley. Painlessly, I suppose, not that he'd notice at this point." Not-Sherlock shrugged. "That's how you do it isn't it? You're the carrot and I'm the stick." He grinned. Wide and wild, looking so similar to John's Sherlock. John ached to know what path had brought this Sherlock here.

He supposed it was too late to pick up the scalpel again, but really, he knew he couldn't use it.

"Yes, sire." His father's expression was calm. Caring. It had been six years since his father died. It had been yesterday. His father closed Hatherley's eyes. Injected Hatherley with something from a nearby tray. Not-Hatherley's exhaled and stopped breathing. "There now. Everything's better. You're at peace now." Which John supposed was a sort of answer to whatever questions John might have.

His father looked at John. Shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, son. For everything. I thought you'd finally gotten away from all of this. But I suppose you'll never be free."

"Of course John can't be free!" Sherlock struck the table where Hatherley's corpse lay. The metal groaned and the body fell crumpled to the floor with a solid thud. "I'm not free!"

"You seem to be the one in charge here, Sherlock," said John.

Which was answered by a brilliant smile from not-Sherlock. "Of course. I'm sorry. I should have already… I can fix this. I know what you want."

He tapped his wrist device and there was another transporter’s hum. This time they materialized somewhere that looked like it had been grown from a stone forest and then added a big helping of hell to it. The room was entirely decorated in black and red marble. Columns that looked like trees. Conch shaped domes full of colorful tiles. Gold velvet couches were scattered around the room. Alphas lounged on couches while naked omegas sat on thick rugs at their feet. Except in some cases where there were clothed omegas on the couches and naked alphas on the floor.

A snarling fight broke out between two alphas while the clothed omegas near them pulled them apart. In the background, Andorian shen quietly carried trays around the room. John wasn't sure if he was relieved or not that he didn't spot Sh'Alaack.

He reminded himself that there was some good to this situation. He was in the palace. Sh'Alaack was in the palace. It would be easier to get word on her progress. With any luck, they'd be able to get out of this madhouse soon. Not that he'd had so much luck so far.

An omega dressed in folded layers of brocaded fabric that looked like she needed an anti-grav to move, said, "Your Highness the Great and Eternal Khan of Glorious Might has sent word that now that you have your pet back, you should resume serving his needs. Working on his tools."

"Tell him to sod off. You can sod off too. I'm not neglecting my John again." Not-Sherlock pulled John up onto a gold platform with an absolutely absurdly huge throne carved from a single piece of something black and twisty. John could make out little skeletons grinning at him. Behind the throne was a statue of a man, who looked like not-Sherlock, if more stern. Brittanus. Beneath the figure was a bronze statue of the angel of death lifting the carved marble as if it were a fold of fabric while clutching an hourglass.

Not-Sherlock looked up at the statue. "Our Quintus, except Sei Quintus who was ill, made that a few months after you abandoned us to cheer me up, but nothing could do that while you were gone." He swept John into his lap and nuzzled him. He rubbed against John. Biting his own lip until he drew blood and then kissing John, which also fell into the pile of disturbing.

John wasn't sure how he could stop where this was heading. "Not in front everyone, please, um, master." Since using the man's name seemed such a trigger.

Not-Sherlock darkly chuckled and rubbed against John, who wasn't even sure when not-Sherlock had gotten his cock out of his codpiece, but there it was hard and very interested against John's backside.

John said, "I… aren't you still angry with me?" which came out a good deal higher pitched than John would have liked.

Not-Sherlock smiled as if he'd been given a treat. Some sort of puzzle. "Oh, perfect. You're perfect." He raised his voice. "Yes, you hurt me, but you can make it better. You always make me better." He rubbed his cock between John's legs. "Or you can make it a good deal worse for everyone."

John was very aware of all the eyes in the room on him. On them. On their murderous Prince's cock between his thighs. Several of the shen looked terrified. A few of the Augments too for that matter. Which was just wonderful.

"Maybe some food. I'm famished." True enough.

Not-Sherlock's eyes gleamed. "I know, pet. I know exactly what you want." A stream of servants approached the throne with silver platers mounded with all sorts of things that had John's mouthwatering. "When did you tell them to… is that fresh Ganva fruit? But that only grows on Alta IV."

"And here in my greenhouse." A purr in his ear. "I may have destroyed the west orchard when you left, but I can fix that. I can fix everything."

Which was how John got lunch. Naked. Sitting in a duplicate of his husband's lap with a duplicate of his husband's hand placing the most insanely flavorful tidbits between his lips. A duplicate of his husband's scent mixing with food that John was fairly certain was not made in a replicator. A duplicate of his husband's very interested cock nudging between his thighs.

A cock connected to a very unstable, homicidal despot. John kept reminding himself of that. Maybe it was finally being warm and fed, or Sherlock in any verse was a genius, but what with being naked, there was no way to hide that his own cock getting more and more interested. Knew his husband, not his husband, could hear his heartbeat increasing. Scent his arousal.

Finally, John really couldn't have taken another bite more. "Thanks. Uh, I'm full now."

"Perfect. Broken edges to let in the light." whispered Sherlock in his ear. He raised his voice. "I'll show you full, my pet."

John gasped as not-Sherlock readjusted him in his lap and thrust up into him. He felt slick and full and sick. It was exactly like any number of his holodeck fantasies over the years. Being fucked on a throne in front of a crowd. Wanton concubine royally rodgered. Sullen slave salaciously sorted. Years of repetition and instinct pooled arousal from John's animal brain. Other bits were horrified. He looked at the very real crowd watching them.

"Why are you like this?" he asked. Because he wanted to know.

Not-Sherlock laughed. Whispered in John's ear. "It's all you." Not-Sherlock moved determinedly inside John. His knot swelling with every stroke.

John groaned. He couldn't help it. Just a reaction to certain stimulus. "Sherlock!"

Not-Sherlock gasped at the sound of his name. "You've never. Not here. Not… thank you. Thank you." Hard slaps of flesh on flesh. Not-Sherlock's fingers scraped at John's flesh. "No one like you." He spread John's thighs wider and pushed up in one last thrust, knotting inside John. "John!"

He scented John's neck. He growled, noticing that John hadn't come. He ran clever fingers along John's cock until that wasn't an issue. He licked at John's cum on his fingers, coming again inside John. "You're more than any of them. Not…" He twisted, causing his knot to rub inside John, who came somewhat helplessly, "that I could deny you this." Another bite. "Never enough for you."

John was once again reminded of all the eyes watching them.

"I don't know what I would have done if you'd been an Augmentum Superior. If I couldn't have this. If you hadn't been the one for me." Not-Sherlock came again and stopped talking. Neither of them were much for talking.

Eventually, finally, he pulled out of John.

This seemed to indicate a period of Sherlock rubbing his cum over John's naked body. Rubbing and scenting him. When he was satisfied, he settled John in his lap, tenderly putting a collar around his neck. The echo of so many scenarios John had asked his Sherlock to play on the holodeck. 

He stroked John's back. "There has never been omega who has ever produced so many. I know it's not what you… but you couldn't have done any of it without such a strong bond." Then almost slyly, he said, "Don't you think you couldn't have done that if you didn't know you had such a strong virile alpha." He stroked John's belly. "Don't you think so?"

John felt that he could truthfully say, "You are a very strong and virile alpha in this and any universe."

That thought seemed to please not-Sherlock, who purred beneath him.

He whispered, "There you are. That fixed it. Your scent is better. Mmm…" He kissed John's cheek. "Do you want to see the messages our Primus and Secundus left for us? I arranged it with them before they left. Outside of the historical records. Just something for us. The Southern Continent didn't stay a stone age for long. With the supplies and pets that went with all of our children, they went from hunting gathering to steam power in one generation. By the time of our great-grandchildren, they'd conquered the Fenisal." Not-Sherlock purred. "I know you were angry, but they were happy. If Mummy has sent just us back, it couldn't have been nearly that quick. If you'd stayed, you could have heard these sooner." He huffed. "You left me. I had to kill a lot of very useful people and then everyone was useless." He hugged John.

Not-Sherlock read John bright hopeful messages written in Breen on clay tablets left on some mountain top by rather a lot of children who were and weren't his. He did the math on how old he'd have had to have been to have kids that age and shuddered. Was just as glad that none of their later children, because he was beginning to pick up on the naming schema, he had a pretty good idea of the course of life for the other him.

As tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, John couldn't really have said who they were for. He decided why choose one thing.


	12. Sherlock's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder to look at the tags for non-con, albeit different in nature that the previous chapter.

Sherlock received word from Chin that she'd located John five minutes before he'd been prepared to rappel into the Breen embassy, which since she'd relayed that John was now in a safe house outside of the city, meant that Sherlock had to reverse his journey and go to where John was.

Chin said over the monitor, "He's behaving very strangely and for some reason, he doesn't recognize me. I've had to go back to ummm… well, duties," They shared a wry smile, "but I've told him that you're on your way there."

Sherlock arrived at the safe house, which was more of a safe mansion overlooking a frozen lake and surrounded by mountains. Exactly the sort of place John had requested they spend their anniversary. Now several days past admittedly, but given time travel over the years, their actual anniversary was offset by forty-five days, not that John hadn't told Sherlock to ignore that when he'd mentioned it.

What he could not ignore was that when he walked in was John was entirely nude except for a leather collar decorated in rubies around his neck.

_ Why? Something to do with what was affecting him? A scenario that he wanted to play out? _

"John, I'm here."

"Of course you are, master," said John, not turning around. The word master sounding like an insult. Like some odd variation on the scenarios where John enjoyed pretending to be Sherlock's slave. "I prepared for that hours ago. But since sir wouldn't have left me in a common cell if you were in power, since I wouldn't have been taken by the 6 th Alignment and then stashed away like a secret, I need to know, did Donovan betray me and contact your brother, or have you been leashed out of his impatience?" John remained where he was. Facing the wide window overlooking the lake.

Sherlock came further into the room. "Donovan has no reason to contact my brother and I'm not leashed."

"Then sir is just angry with his pet," said John. Sherlock could hear the smirk in his voice. "Good, because master's pet is angry too."

Sherlock came closer. "John, why won't you turn around? Is there something wrong?"

"I planned this conversation for the last year. After the Guardian of Forever turned out to be… not useful for what I thought." John looked down at his hands. His back at parade rest straight. A contrast to the soft signatures in his scent. Subtle differences Sherlock examined while he examined the mystery of John's straight naked spine. He had rather a lot of skin exposed. "I saved your life while I was there," he said conversationally.

"I know." Sherlock did know. John always saved him. Except when John had needed to be saved on the Breen homeworld, and Sherlock had returned the favor to the detriment of their children. Ever since the Guardian, Sherlock had worried at the thought that he hadn't been able to fix things. To reassure himself, he put his hand on John's shoulder.

John flinched. "How could you… You know what I'm not going to let you tell me. You'll twist me up with reasons and details and deductions, and I'm not reasonable about this. You sent our children to the past."

_ Sent? Left? _

"If I turn around, I'll forgive you, and I'm not ready to do that, sir." Another contemptuous twist to the word. "I'm more than ready for everything else. You know I enjoy it. But I can't let myself forgive you. Not yet. Just because I wasn't ready to be a parent when I had them. But Master knows that biology fucked me. Master knows his fucking Mother knew what would happen in that particular scenario and left us alone together. Because, and I'll never say this while looking at you, but Tertius wasn't your fault. Either time." A bark of a laugh. "None of them really." 

Sherlock didn't understand the significance of the Roman numbers. His mind racing, he slid his hand along John's shoulder. Taking comfort from the touch. From the way John leaned into it. "Do you mean the first time? When Mummy transported me away from you or do you mean the Breen homeworld?"

John made a wordless sound of annoyance. "All of the above." Another growl. "Fuck, you smell good. But I am not… I changed my mind. You should have respected that and you didn't. You should have let me say goodbye at least and you didn't. I can't forgive that." These last words, John spat out. Saliva hitting the window in front of him.

"Don't forgive me. I don't forgive me." A simple admission. One he should have made before it festered as it had. "All I could think of was saving you from dying in that cave, and… I reacted. I left our children there. Not alone, it's true, and it's more than obvious that they survived to have children of their own, but that's no excuse. It's not something to excuse. And I've tried to think of a way to fix this, but I can't. I've failed us. You. Them. Sometimes I think maybe I needed you to be angry with me so I can have a way of processing what I'd done. But… nevermind."

John gave a long sigh that Sherlock felt through his hand. "Sherlock. If you'd admitted you felt that way before, instead of insisting it wasn't your fault, we could have prevented a good deal of this. I'm sorry I failed you too. I should have known what you needed. Instead I pulled back. Let your brother twist you around. Again." John whirled around and struck several blows to Sherlock's face. Hard enough that they would have seriously injured anyone but someone with Sherlock's particular genetics.

_ Small tidy mustache and beard. Changed center of gravity, fuller mammary glands. Several indicators that John had carried not one, but several high order multiple pregnancies. _

_ John's portrait said, "That's not me." _

_ "You should have scanned him before you approached him," said Mycroft, "it will be more difficult now that you're close to him." _

A sharp pain first in his upper chest and abdomen. Gashes in his clothes. Bright red blood staining his uniform.

_ Where was the edged weapon? Other John was naked. _

"I had some modifications made while I was away," other John almost crooned. "Our usual toys won't work for what I've got planned." Another sweep of his fingers. Some form of extremely short range laser, no longer than two or three centimeters embedded in his fingertips. "Your brother's brooding in that impregnable floating palace of his. Too afraid to leave it. Wanting all the power. All the control. All the love. None of the risk. None of his children have survived in either vitro or vivo, because he keeps insisting on only trying with Augmentum Superior. With his own genetics." Another swipe. Sherlock stepped back. He should restrain other John, but ended up merely holding up his hands. Other John continued. "He's jealous and possessive, and that's mine. You're mine. And I want more. I'm done pretending." A raked hand up his abdomen. "You've got to stop trying to play both sides. I'm not putting up with it anymore."

"John," Sherlock trailed off. Uncertain of how exactly to begin. Which earned him a sweeping slice that quickly healed.

"Fuck me, but I love how you can take what I dish out," other John's expression shifted. Familiar on a slightly different face. John's lips on his. Not John's lips. The mustache strange against his lips. Soft and yet abrasive. Dragging and pricking at his skin.

_ When had he opened his mouth? John's tongue tasted like John. John's mouth tasted like John. _

John's bit Sherlock's lips until he drew blood. Looked at Sherlock tenderly. "I know what you need. I won't make you wait to do it in the throne room. That would be about pleasing me. I know you prefer it like this. Alone. Just the two of us. Me taking you apart."

Sherlock should be pulling away. He should be pushing this other John back or at least confining his wrists to reduce the injuries. Time felt liquid. Elongated. Soft.

_ "Think Sherlock, this is a hormonal response to the release of pheromones," said Mycroft. "From a pheromone perspective, this is John." _

_ "You and John have had children. It's part of his pheromone signature. This John has carried multiple pregnancies," said Mummy. "You are programmed to want to take care of him." _

None of this was helping Sherlock. He did manage to make one step back. A precious step.

The other John grinned. He tapped a square gem on the collar and all Sherlock could breathe was the scent of an omega in heat.

No. John. In heat. Warm against him.

Not just that, but the scent he'd had when he'd been regressed in age. Stronger. Even more intense. Painfully so.

His mate sliced off Sherlock's uniform. Exposing his hardening cock. Pushing him back on a couch. Like the first time. His mate straddled him.

This was his mate insisted every part of him.

The omega laughed as Sherlock rolled them over. Thrust into his mate. His best beloved. The gravity well around which he revolved.

Moving harder. Faster. His mate's fingers scraping over his skin and leaving trails of bloody wounds that quickly healed. His teeth biting down on Sherlock's shoulder. His chest. Anywhere he could reach. Muffling shouts into bites as Sherlock's knot swelled to the logical conclusion to this sort of activity.

Logical.

Heartbreaking when the effects of the pheromones faded. After this other John cuddled on top of him in a very John like post coital way. When his mind caught up with what had just happened.

Another failure.

Other John said, "As long as we're alone and not being watched, I'll admit I'm not sorry I fucked Victor Hatherley. It was the only way he'd help me leave. I know your brother sent him to oversee the Ancestrum Conchordia when our children went back. I know he was there." He grinned fiercely at Sherlock. "I wanted you to take apart at least one alpha named Victor. I also killed the Victor I'm really angry with a few times. Say that it hurt when you found out. As you may have noticed," other John kissed his cheek, "I've forgiven you, like I always do, but I want details. Did you suffer? Did you make a chart?" Other John bounced a little. "Show me your suffering chart."

Sherlock tried to think, but his brain was still rebooting.

Other John kissed one of the healing wounds on Sherlock's chest. "You're really going to like what I've got planned. Eventually, but that's part of your punishment." His brow wrinkled. "Why did you shave your beard? And those clothes. They're dull. Sometimes I half regret destroying what you're wearing, but this time I can't say I do."

Sherlock could not help an aggrieved sigh, because of all the possible details a version of John could fixate on, he noticed that Sherlock was dressed differently.

"I'm afraid that you under a misapprehension." Sherlock paused. He pulled away from John. Another couch away. "We," he gestured between them, "have not had children."

Other John burst out laughing. "If we've done one thing, we've had children. Fine, we've also conquered dozens of planets, not that any of those arsehole flunkies of your brother know what I'm actually doing with you on campaign." He sobered. "I'm sorry I didn't let you help me the last few times I was breeding and we lost them. That I Vatican Cameoed that last time when I went into heat and made you leave. But I had access to a time machine and I didn't change any of it. I'm ready to move forward."

Sherlock did what he really should have done when he entered the room and scanned John with the tricorder that he'd brought for that very purpose. In every way, John was John down to the DNA.

Except for one thing.

His molecules were on a slightly different resonance than every other thing in this reality.

Sherlock said in a rush, "The transporter carried you to a different reality. There is no throne room. I have not been deposed or leashed. I am the captain of a Federation starship and I am married to Doctor John Hamish Watson. Donovan could try contacting Mycroft all she wants, but she'd get a very different response than she whatever it is she might expect."

Whatever response, Sherlock might have expected, it wasn't for other John to look faintly contemplative. "Of course, it would take traveling to another universe for me to hear what I wanted to hear from you, but I'll take it." Then he shook his head as if dismissing a thought. "Donovan is a Kettry junky, but even she remembers that Mycroft is dead. She was there when your brother killed him. Fairly spectacularly. Along with your parents."

Sherlock, easing farther away from other John, said, "That's not what happened here."


	13. Bihr Sh'Alaack's POV

Bihr had been adjusting the trans-dimensional communicator to the atomic frequency of her own body, when Donovan commed her. "Watson's been taken by fucking Holmes."

"What? I don't understand?"

"Holmes is fucking Prince William." Bihr had a moment of confusion if in this instance fucking was a verb or an adjective, before Donovan clarified. "Holmes is the prince all hot to find John. How did you not know this? You live in the same palace."

Bihr had been in smaller space stations than the palace. Donovan appeared to be under the impression that the palace was intended to house royalty rather than the administrative center for a large sector of an empire. "I'll see if I can find him." Bihr carefully rearranged the communicator and examined her tool set. Tricorder, which was useless for finding an Augment in a palace full of them. She picked up a small laser cutter used for intricate detail work. It fit over the tip of the finger. She removed the safeties that would prevent the cutter from cutting soft tissue. She wasn't sure what she'd do if she had to use it, but it was better than nothing. 

She went to find Eshess. "If an Augment Inferior was brought to the palace, where would they be taken?"

"The kennel level. It's where the pets are kept when they aren't with their masters," said Eshess indifferently. "They don't allow Andorians up there." Her lips twisted. "Afraid we'll get revenge for what they've done. Sometimes I think about it."

"But… they're captives too," said Bihr. She'd seen many alphas and omegas naked and collared in the upper levels of the palace.

"Unless their precious genes enable them to help their masters spawn the next generation and then they are promoted to being part of the problem." Eshess pushed her away. "Wish that was an option for us. The Breen-Andorian Empire has a nice ring to it." She was still laughing as she walked away.

Bihr looked at Eshess retreating back and thought, "This is the barometer by which I've judged my life. A different version of her, true. Twisted by events. As the other me has been twisted. But this has been the ghost judging me at my feast."

It was in that state of mind that she came around a corner and face to face with Kodos. Naked. Crying in a neo-Art Nouveau inspired nightmare of a hallway.

She looked at him and thought, "There is a reality where he killed me. There is a reality where he waited one more day and no one died. This is neither of those. This is the reality where the other me had no intention of anything other than killing this man. If I succeed in going home, she may yet."

He told a statue in the hallway. "My son is back. John may come and go, but for Harry, no return from that undiscovered country. She removed herself from this mortal coil, no father's hand to hold the knife. How not? That's what I do. Isn't it? Out, out damned spot." He rubbed at his hands. "Harry told me that she considered herself an alpha. That she was terrified and I didn't listen. Now John's returned and he gives me embraces. Trades frowns for smiles."

Bihr felt the slight weight of the laser cutter in her hand. Small. Capable of fitting on the tip of a finger. She could kill Kodos right now. He was even guilty of the same crimes. She had looked up that much about the other hers history before becoming too disturbed at what the other Bihr had been capable of doing. 

She waited quietly. He said nothing more.

She approached him in that silence. "When you selected who died on Camus II, how did you make the choice?"

He looked at her like she was a ghost. "Sorry, my dear, I didn't see you there."

"And yet, the question remains." She waited.

"I didn't choose," Kodos rubbed his eyes. "I put my name on the same list and let the computer select. I kept families together so they wouldn't die alone, but that's all. I'm never the one who chooses. Not like John. Not like Harry."

Bihr found herself saying, "If it helps, think of this. For every choice, or action, there's another reality where it went the other way." She leaned closer. "Somewhere, there's a reality where the computer picked you."

"And then I would signify nothing," said Kodos letting out a breath. His scent the same as it had been the day he’d hugged her so long ago. The day he’d killed her family. "Good."

She walked away from the ghost that troubled her dreams and contemplated what message she should send the other side.


	14. John's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for attempted non-con, as the plot thickens.

Stun headache gone. Flu eradicated. Depressed and post coitally sticky. Naked on a throne with a mad duplicate of his husband. Wearing a leather collar said mad duplicate had put there. 

Feeling a little chilly all told.

Up until then, the temperature in the palace had been hot. Sultry even. Now the temperature was more attuned to the wearing of clothes. He shivered.

"Who has changed the temperature, my John is," suddenly, not-Sherlock's looked away. "Victorious"

"I'm sure you meant to address me as the Great Khan of the Eternal Khannate, little brother." An alpha that John almost recognized came into the throne room. He was wearing a golden doublet and hose out of some sort of Elizabethan historical. Like not-Sherlock, he had a small beard, which he'd had gilded with gold. His dark wavy hair was tipped with gold too. He was followed by rows of guards that glittered with force shields.

"I know you're received my latest commands, but here you sit literally fucking around with a pet while your loving Khan is left wanting. Forcing me to come to you."

"Our children went into the past, and it cost me my John." Not-Sherlock's fingers squeezed tight around John's body.

"Which," Victorious – stupid name, John would think of him as Victor – came closer, "I have had to endure no end of unhinged complaints about from you. Now that you have him back, you should focus on more important matters."

Not-Sherlock said softly, "But it was your man who helped him escape."

"And I gave you resources so you could find him as a little treat for my beloved little brother. After all I was the one who didn’t listen when Mummy said you’d died after you murdered Chin Singh, your own sister. I was the one who saw how they were using us. Using you. Who freed us to have the power we always deserved. I was the one who found out where Mummy had kept you locked up unable to get to your little pet. Although, really, two litters in less than two years. That does indicate a certain lack of self-control." Victor tisked. "Need I remind you that Mummy was going to send you into the past? I was the one who kept you here. I forgave you. Gave you a planet to rule. A palace. An opportunity to use your brilliance. And after all I've done for you, you sit in my presence." Victor came closer. His clothes looked even more pretentious closer up. "Stand."

Not-Sherlock growled and stood up, pushing John to sit at his feet.

"That's better." Victor came closer.

"Please, I just got my John back." Not-Sherlock's hand's twisted again in John's hair, forcing him to tilt his head to the side. "Last time, you let me have months with him."

"Pets are plentiful, but not all of us are as addicted to your antiquated ideas for how to go about reproduction. Some of us like to live up to the legacy Mummy left us. But," Victor stepped past Not-Sherlock to sit on his throne. A booted foot had not-Sherlock stumbling forward. "Perhaps, I have been remiss. Perhaps I should try your method with your fecund cow of an omega." Strong fingers snaked into John's collar dragging him backwards. He was really wishing he had access to a weapon. Any weapon.

"No, he's mine." Not-Sherlock looked wounded. "Please, Victorious."

Victor glanced to the right and to the left. Four guards separated from the rest and grabbed not-Sherlock by the arms and legs. "I am the Khan. What you have comes from me. Your offspring with a mongrel pet belong to me. They are my resources for my purposes. If I want to send one or all of them to the past to create an even more powerful Breen race, I will do it. If I chose to seed them throughout the past, to ensure we can spread throughout the galaxy, I will do it." His grip on John's arm was just as tight as his hold on the collar had been. "If I choose to breed your little pet, and deny you that pleasure, I will do it."

"No," said not-Sherlock struggling against the guards. "Please, don't. You can't."

"Can't! Who is the Khan here?"

"You are," was the soft mumbled reply.

"On your knees when you say it." Victor's tone was hard.

Not-Sherlock stumbled to his knees. It was a strangely graceless move. Like a broken bird.

Victor tilted John's chin up. His gaze was cold and hard. Familiar and strange. He shook his head. "I have no idea what William sees in you. However, lessons must be taught or he'll never learn." Victor snapped his fingers.

There was a murmur and Sh'Alaack bustled out from a concealed opening in the wall. She was trying not to look terrified and not really succeeding. There was a small pot on a tray, which she opened. Her antennae twitched uncomfortably.

The strong scent of an omega in heat wafted out of it. Victor dipped two fingers in the pot and then rubbed them beneath his nose. He inhaled sharply. "Redolent of the barnyard."

"Don't." Not-Sherlock twisted in the guard's hands.

Victor reached down and there was a rustling sound of clothing being opened. John was really just done with this reality. He looked around the room for a weapon. Anything.

Sh'Alaack tapped once on the bottom of her metal tray, which hopefully meant she had something. But he had no idea how to make the exchange.

Not-Sherlock said, "Don't worry, John. I'll take care of this. You'll be fine. This will be fine."

"William, you ignore my orders for months and expect things to be fine!" John could feel the spittal from Victor on the back of his neck.

John calculated the distance between himself and Sh'Alaack.

"Please, brother. Please, don't hurt him."

John grabbed the small pot and threw it at the feet of the gathered alphas on the floor. It shattered impressively, scattering the gell of some omega's heat everywhere. The alphas reacted immediately. Snarling at each other.

John jumped away from the throne, tilting the tray as he did so. Sh'Alaack stepped forward as if to right it. Blocking everyone's view of when she slipped a small something into his collar.

John was glad suddenly that not-Sherlock had fastened it so tight. 

As he moved forward, not-Sherlock fell, toppled by a stun beam from behind.

Victor stood up. "Very clever. I wouldn't have expected that of the little cow I'd met previously. Certainly you move more quickly when not corpulent with William's copious get. Very well. I've lost the mood for public lessons. It's not as if my brother won't be able to deduce exactly what I've done to you. In what I might call his bed, but everything here is mine."

Victor snapped his fingers and John was bodily dragged through a series of anti-chambers to a bedroom with a massive solid wood bed lined with soft hanging fabrics in deep blues and greens.

He was left alone for several minutes. They felt like hours. He examined the thing Sh'Alaack had stuck in his collar and figured out how to work it. The laser was too short range to be good for cutting anything other than class, and John couldn't fly. He put it back in his collar, just in case and kept searching.

There weren't any other weapons that he could find. A few hundred sex toys, but he wasn't Sherlock to rig three dildos into an explosive device and he didn't want to give Victor any ideas.

He settled down to trying to pull off a ventilation cover with a string of anal beads.

All the while, as he worked the string through the grate, he tried to ignore that slightly slick, slightly full in his labia. The slightly tender feeling to his nipples. Light sensitivity. All signs he'd come to learn over the years for a very certain set of biological reactions. 

With all the stress, the flu, hormones, his suppressants had given up Hamlet’s ghost. Within a few hours, he'd go into heat. Another focus for the study. If only he had Sherlock there to talk about it with. 

If only a lot of things.

He kept working the problem.


	15. Mirror Sherlock's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features references to attempted abortion.

Sherlock woke, and was released by his brother's guards with a laugh and a rude gesture.

Victorious had John.

Victorious was going to…

He had John.

John hated Victorious. Always had, even after all he'd done for them. But then, John was possessive of Sherlock's love. Indulgent with their children, after all they were theirs. He was short-tempered with his father's grief. But Victorious, he loathed.

That meant something John was going to do something foolish and he was going to die and it was going to be Sherlock's fault. If he'd simply worked on inventions for Victorious while John was away. But he couldn't have. Not while his light was gone.

As it was, he'd only been able to work on one device in the hopes that John would return. That he could finally fix things after so many broken promises.

The only thing that had kept Sherlock going at all was the thought that maybe, just perhaps John was headed to the Guardian of Forever. That this was the moment he'd known, hoped, fondly imagined many times. Not under these circumstances. Never these. He hadn't sent a ship to find out. Searched everywhere else for the negation.

It would have broken his heart if it hadn't been true.

He'd known the face of the person who'd carried his nine year old self out of the Cave of the Ancestors and back to his parent's summer palace for years.

Since day two hundred and four of John's gestation of Tertius.

The pregnancy after Victorious had reunited them after Mummy, having cruelly brought John home and let Sherlock love him had then taken him away again, saying Sherlock that was weak and out of control and he wasn't taking good care of his John by breeding John so often and that if he wasn't stopped he'd keep doing so until John died and Mummy was doing what was best for Sherlock in the long run and Sherlock simply had to accept that.

A harsher version of the lecture after Mummy found out John was pregnant with their Secundus.

As if Sherlock hadn't stayed away from John when he was giving birth to their Primus so they could avoid being near each other during John's postpartum heat, because John hadn't wanted to get pregnant again so soon. His face fierce when he made Sherlock promise to stay away for at least a week no matter what. That meant Sherlock had missed his only opportunity to see Primus before Mummy took them away.

Mummy had left and Sherlock had been so lonely and a week had passed and John had smelled so good and Sherlock had missed John so much and John had been so wonderfully demanding when they thought they were out of danger and they'd had no reason to think that insatiably copulating for days on end would result in another pregnancy. Sherlock wasn't stupid. He knew it wasn't possible to breed outside of heat.

How John had raged and cried that he wanted to be more than just a broodmare when the marks on his neck turned red again. Had only ever faded to a sort of pink. When Sherlock realized what the change in John's scent meant and had gotten on the floor so John could kick him. Walk on him with sharp heels. Whatever he wanted. As long as he forgave Sherlock.

Fortunately, John had seen reason and agreed that it was really more Mummy's fault since they must have known John would be constantly in heat until his late teens as a result of carrying the genes for Juvenile heat syndrome. Sherlock had spent days examining the evidence and presented the results to John, heart pounding in his chest hoping against hope. John had kissed him and smiled and removed the various clamps and told him that they'd just have to think of something. His eyes shining with the belief that Sherlock could come up with a solution for this.

Back then, John had believed Sherlock could do anything.

Sometimes, Sherlock thought that that had been the last time they'd been happy. Really happy. Just the two of them. So much future ahead of them. With Sherlock treasuring the thought that maybe Mummy would let him see their Secundus when they were ready to leave John's safe harbor.

Tertius, the first Tertius, the one they lost at eleven weeks and ten days was Sherlock's fault. He shouldn't have wanted to see John when he gave birth to Secundus. Shouldn't have handcuffed himself inside a hidden wall he'd hacked into the palace code so he could be there. Shouldn't have broken the cuffs to creep out to hold John when he was crying after the holo doctors left him to rest with a set of postpartum dildos.

Mummy told him after that he should have known hormonal responses could be triggered by skin contact as well as scent and the face mask wouldn't be enough. 

Mummy had told him it was all his own fault he had lost his pet for not taking good care of him when he begged Mummy to bring John back when Mummy came to tell him the news about Tertius. Had coldly told Sherlock to be logical and face the fact that John would already be pregnant again if Mummy had left him there with Sherlock.

Then Mummy left.

Then Sherlock had been all alone. All alone. All the worse for six hundred and thirty seven short days with his John. His light. His wonderful brave and clever and demanding John.

Sherlock hadn't even gotten to see Primus or Secundus. A few squalling seconds as the holo doctors lifted one red wrinkled beautiful screaming scrap of flesh after another away from his screaming John, how the cuffs had cut and healed into his wrists, wasn't really enough.

He hadn't gotten to hold any of them until after Victorious had taken the throne and told him he could take care of his own brats and explained that it was obvious that sending two large litters into the past with pets and what non- technical supplies that could be transported through the Atavachron was a far better solution than merely sending John and Sherlock. "After all little brother," Victorious had very logically said, "you'd only end up breed your pet to death without the benefit of modern medicine. Anyway, it's either that or your offspring will end up breeding with the rejects that lunatic Sarpeidon sent back before we eradicated his species. Really, we should have wiped them out as soon as we had the chance. Too bad the Atavachron is a single purpose time machine."

Which was logical and reasonable.

That sort of thing was always logical and reasonable when talking to Victorious.

So logical and reasonable that Sherlock suspected this had been Mummy's plan all along.

It was why they'd relented and removed Sherlock from cryo sleep after what he'd done. They'd most likely done the math. Sherlock was still a dangerous and unstable murderer, but they'd defrosted Sherlock. When he was old enough to breed, they'd brought a dozen omegas with DNA that matched the information handed down by the first Breenava Empire at the time of year when their estrus cycle would have them going into heat, denied those omegas access to suppressors, and then left them with Sherlock, the only alpha in the palace. Not that Augment Inferiors were allowed to have suppressors, but there was always the black market. All of this two decades before the window to the correct time in the past opened.

Sometimes, Sherlock regretted that John hadn't been on the first ship that came with Father Meiying or Father Noonian. That Sherlock had shared heats with others first. Older and trying to flatter him with lies they didn't believe.

The moment Sherlock had seen John, the only Augment his own age, John had been the only one for him. Furious and wild. Stalking up to yank the collar from Sherlock's hand. An angry hand that shoved him back, which turned into furious grappling that had the palace reformatting around them to give them privacy. The world shrinking until it had felt there was just the two of them moving like one in the act that made twenty-three. Only six survived gestation, but still it had been transformative.

If John hadn't been so insatiable. If he hadn't been so wonderfully possessive, everything might have gone differently.

But as soon as John noticed the bonding marks, he'd murdered every other omega in the palace. Insisting that Sherlock save all his love for John. Perhaps it had been because of the first flush of pregnancy hormones, but Sherlock had felt so wonderfully loved. Perfectly held. The perfect click of all his raw edges meshing with the broken edges of his perfect match.

After all, Sherlock's first memory was being told he had murdered his sister, Chin Singh, and killed his brother Victorious. That he'd been put in cryo for five years for his crimes.

Mummy hadn't seen fit to share their plans with Sherlock. That Victorious was alive.

But certainly, if sending their children back hadn't been Mummy's plan, Mummy could simply have waited more years to thaw Sherlock out and dropped Sherlock and a similar set of omegas in the past and been done with it.

Sherlock didn't go to his memory palace anymore. He didn't want to hear from Mummy or the others. He knew Victorious told him to be logical. Mummy and his Fathers and Mycroft had just been using him. Had never loved and cared for him the way Victorious did.

Still, he never went there.

Sherlock was not logical and reasonable about John. Which was why he'd ended up hacking the unpurged backups for the summer palace on the Breen homeworld when John sent him away on that fateful day.

Because John was gravid with their second try for Tertius and John had told Sherlock in no uncertain terms to sod off for a few days because he felt like shite and it was Sherlock's fault for smelling so good and crying so beautifully when John fucked his arse that Sherlock had fucked up the illegal suppressors that John had gotten a hold of in just under seven days of them being together again. Thus, Tertius.

The Tertius that Sherlock did everything in his power to ensure would survive, and wanted so very much to be there from their first breath into the world. Sherlock had been so impatient to hold them and breathe their sweet infant scent and kiss them and dandle them and play with them and love them. As many of them that survived. Weren't murdered and absorbed by their stronger siblings. That was how it was for Auguments in vivo. For high order multiples. For John. Not that they'd ever tried vitro.

After all, as John had told him more than once, "It's not like we need to try to have children." Generally, while pregnant. After Sherlock failed at yet another method to prevent just that. Augments went into heat for three months every year in the winter. Unless on suppressants. Which always failed no matter what Sherlock tried. Since staying apart wasn't really an option.

John had told him that while carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair while he had Sherlock on the rack. Until it would seem, he hadn't felt that way anymore. A little over a year ago. Not long before John left.

But that had been ahead of them. While carrying the second Tertius John had been stern with Sherlock until he understood that he'd have to wait.

Because John might have outgrown Juvenile heat, but there was still postpartum heat to deal with, and John did not want to become pregnant again. Not right away. Actually, never had been the exact wording.

So, sent away from John, Sherlock had hacked the video feed for the palace on the Breen homeworld to fill the hole in his understanding.

He'd stared at the image of the Augment who'd saved his life as a child for hours.

Had run to tell John, which was how what with John going into labor, John's postpartum heat, which resulted in breeding Quartus, the demanded forbidden after heat pills that failed to work, John's other attempts at horticulture based abortion that failed because of the punishment sex, and then Victorious insisting that Sherlock go deal with enemies on their border, which needed to be conquered if the Khanate was to remain secure, and John had been so happy and so much better at directing troops than Sherlock, albeit in secret, after all of that Sherlock had failed to mention it for many weeks, which became months, and years full of adventures.

Taking the children to war had been dangerous, but the only way they had any time with them. And at least Sextus and Septimus were somewhat spaced out as a result of the Romulan Star Empire and the Klingon Empire refusing to lay down and die.

What Sherlock knew had become a rare secret from John. From Victorious.

The thought that his light was his savior come to save him just hours after Sherlock had murdered his sister.

There hadn't been much mystery about what he'd done. Even if he hadn't killed Victorious, his brother had filled in the horrible details when he'd freed him. Mummy at least had spared him that. But not who had saved him. Perhaps didn't know. Didn't care that Sherlock needed to know why a stranger would want to save him.

Victorious explained why it was logical that he follow Victorious' orders.

Why he couldn't be trusted. Had to be watched.

Why it was better if their beautiful wonderful brave Primus and Secundus, so tall and strong by the time they'd gone, had to go into the past.

Which was why he'd lost his John for a second time.

Admittedly, while John had been away, Sherlock had also enjoyed torturing Victor Hatherley. He was aware, he was not an idiot, why John had selected that particular individual as the vehicle by which he left the palace. Why he'd had sex with him. John only did that when he really wanted to upset Sherlock.

Hatherly had thought as Victorious' representative, he was safe from retribution.

Sherlock tortured a man with some variation of Victorious' name under the camera that he very well knew Victorious was watching him through. He was always watching everything. Sherlock loved his brother. He did. But given various things over the years, he hated him too.

Especially just then.

There were few private spaces in the palace. Sherlock had crafted those islands carefully.

He went to one of them now. Trois Primus was perched on a ledge reading under the statue of Ozymandias that hid him from prying eyes. Sherlock crouched next to him, squeezed his shoulder affectionately, and said, "Irregulars to the wind."

Trois Primus looked up at him with John's blue eyes. He was the only one of his litter that had not been sent into the past. The only one not considered an Augumentum Superior because he had his mother's immune system, healing, and strength. When he had all of John's bravery and boldness too, and was already moving from the ledge to move his younger siblings to a safe place.

Just in case Sherlock failed.

Sherlock went to his workroom, the location of so many wonderful moments being inspired by his John, and tried to select the right weapons to kill every guard surrounding Victorious. And the weapon that would allow him to die if he failed.


	16. John's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter features violence and attempted rape.

John hadn't made much progress with the ventilation shaft when Victor came in alone without his guards.

Victor moved to look out a wide open window over a complicated garden six stories down. After a long silence, Victor said, "Frankly this palace is a bit overdone for my taste, but my brother does enjoy his sybaritic pleasures."

John clambered down from standing on the bed, and ignoring the leather straps hanging from each sturdy post was what he was doing. Went through all his possible plays, and decided there really was only one option left. "Please, your Majesty. There's something you need to know."

Victor twirled a long thin stick in his right hand. A small blade glinted from one end. "Very well, what possible case do you think you can make?"

"I'm not John Watson." John shrugged, resisting the urge to cover his body with his hands. Feeling itchy and exposed. If not yet exhibiting any physical symptoms for heat. Although, there had to be some shift in pheromone output. John needed to get this situation dealt with and quick. John told himself to focus. "At least I'm not the John you know. There was a transporter accident. I'm from an alternate dimension. I can't explain it. I'm a medical doctor, not a physicist."

"Interesting." Victor spun the pen-knife over and over. "You aren't him. It's such an outlandish idea, it didn't even occur to me. But you have markers on your middle and index finger consistent with someone consistently holding a hypospray. If William weren't in such a state over his pet, he'd have noticed before now himself." He spread his left hand. "What of it. You are in a John shape, which is what I require."

"Here's how I see it," said John moving carefully away from the bed. "You've got three options. Option number one, use your considerable resources to help get me home, returning the other John here."

"Or," was the leisurely reply.

"Or, option two, you can kill me, which will send your brother over the last bend in the sanity flightpath. Just want to get that out of the way before I make my last statement."

"Yes, I'm listening." He had all of Victor's smiling attention now.

"Or you go with with option three to fuck me to send your brother a John shaped message, which will have the consequence that I figure out some way to kill you." John said that as pleasantly as possible to keep the sting out of the words. Got a scoff from Victor. "Maybe, I walk out of here and I convince your brother, who is clearly obsessed with John shaped me and will have good reason to hate you, to overthrow you in the most unpleasant manner possible. Then either he wins and I use what are now his considerable resources to get back home, or you're faced with the prospect of killing the genius creating your most deadly weapons. Wages wars for you. Whatnot. That's one way that option could play out."

Victor sighed. "You say that as if I don't care about my brother. I'd really hate to have to kill him. It would be like the rest of our family all over again."

"Which brings me back to that first best option."

"Of whether I'm going to, as you so quaintly put it, fuck you or not? Oh, that will happen," drawled Victor.

"Which will trigger third option."

"Please, my little brother idolizes me. Has always been willing to do whatever I asked. Play whatever game I wanted. I'll admit I had to punish him time to time. Like the time he ignored me in favor of that pet sehlat of his." His eyes twinkled. His lips were bright red in his dark beard gilded with gold. "Or perhaps it went differently in your universe. "Pity Chin Singh tried to tell him I'd lamed his pet. Does he think he killed Chin Singh in your universe too? Broke her neck in so dramatic a fashion."

"No," said John flatly.

"Ah, perhaps Euros was a little less anxious for attention in your universe." Victor balanced the pen-knife while holding his hands as if strangling someone. Flipping it so it landed neatly back in his hand. "My loving little brother, except," he tilted his head, when it comes to his pets. So, sad things went so wrong between William and John, but," Victor smiled with merry twinkling eyes, "who could have imagined that this would be the precise result of sending their children into the past. A tragic rift." He spun the pen-knife. "He's been such a mess the last year. Oh, I could regale you with the hours of moaning and ranting and pacing. The hugging John's pillow until it lost his scent. Sleeping one night out of seven, and then only on the floor at the foot of the bed. Hardly ate. If I hadn't thrown him Hatherley to play with even he would have run himself into the ground. Really what was the other you thinking, leaving him so cruelly." He put down the pen-knife.

"Couldn't say," said John sturdily, more and more certain that Victor had brought him in here to kill him. He put on his show time smile. "How about this then, you agree to help me and we fuck each other, which I'm sure you'll agree will be even worse punishment for um… not-Sherlock."

"Sherlock. Interesting. Inter reality resonance. You both call him by his middle name. One of them." Victor tapped his fingers together. "Are you fond of the other William Sherlock Scott. Ah, you are."

John kept his show time face on. A mild genial smile. "We've been together for a very long time. I couldn't imagine my life without him."

"And yet you'd betray him to save yourself some discomfort."

"No," John raised his chin. "I wouldn't be betraying him. I'd be doing everything I can to get back to him. Anyway," he met Victor's gaze, "the first time I met my Sherlock, he deduced I'd had sex with a Caitian the night before. I'm an amazing fuck." He tried to remember the cocky young John who'd gone on the pull every night. To pull that person on like a sweater. Bit bulky and shapeless at this point after years of disuse.

"Really, it is too bad we have to engage in such a tedious business. This has been a very enlightening conversation. Very well, I will demonstrate to my brother that what is his is mine and perhaps I'll agree to help you." Which meant John was about to be fucked and murdered.

John nodded as if he believed Victor. "That's the best I can hope for. So, let's do this, and trust me, you won't need any omega pheromones this time." John knelt in front of the bed and patted the coverlet. John held up his hands palm up to show what he was very clearly unarmed and very naked. Except for the collar with the hard shape of the finger laser inside of it. He hoped it wouldn't turn on by moving and stab him.

For now, he left it were it was.

Victor sat down and pulled a limp cock out of his codpiece.

John knelt between Victor's legs. Stroking him with one hand, while teasing Victor's secondary sexual folds with the tips of his other hand. Light and easy. Just flesh. Just bodies. When it leaked a little pre-cum, he took Victor's cock in his mouth. Teased it with his tongue.

Victor breathed in and out. "Slightly more interesting, I suppose." He leaned back, his hands splayed on the bed. "Such a comfort to reconfirm the constant of any universe. Everyone works to their own benefit."

John licked and sucked simply focusing on the tube of meat in his mouth. Just a tube of meat. Until he had it right how he wanted it. Engorged with blood. He slid forward slightly. Bobbying his head. Raising his hands to rake them along Victor's thighs. Taking advantage of the motions to slip his fingers inside his collar, which was the moment of truth, but Victor didn't react. Apparently, even the most observant of people didn't notice everything while being fellated. He slid the laser onto his index finger. The operational control was fairly simply. An L-shaped switch. He felt it rather than saw it turn on. A faint heat on the tip of his finger.

He slashed across the femoral artery in his right leg. Slicing across and through the nicely engorged arteries in that tube of meat that was no longer connected to Victor and over his left femoral. A small effective motion at that angle.

He wasn't fast enough to avoid a backhand that sent him flying against the wall in a blow that had his head ringing, did his back no favors, and probably cracked some ribs. Victor tried to yell, but the blood pressure in his body rapidly dropped to an unsustainable level. John really did not want to get up. But he had to finish this. He knew what Sherlock could heal from.

John pushed himself to his feet, careful not to stab himself. Victor was still alive. Gasping for breath. Flailing his arms. His attempts to shout stopped when John gripped his gold tipped hair and slit his carotid as well. The arterial spray wasn't as bad as it could have been. But then, Victor had already lost a lot of blood. Lost more when John tugged him around so gravity could do the work of getting that healing blood out of his body. He shoved some tubing from the inner workings of one of the dildos into the carotid to keep it open and bleeding out.

As he did much the same to the femoral cuts, he told Victor's corpse, "I did warn you. Fucking with me meant option three stayed on the table." He adjusted one of the tubes, still trickling blood. "I think I mentioned I'm a doctor. That does mean I have a pretty good idea what kills people. Even people like you."

He was still fussing with the corpse making sure it stayed a corpse, when the door was flung open. Not-Sherlock charged through the door with a very evil looking weapon. The corridor behind him smelled like burnt meat. Not-Sherlock yelled, "Get away from..."

He stopped when he saw John and his brother.

John wouldn't have picked up another person's detached cock himself and danced around with it, but then again he wasn't unstable overclocked genius, who'd spent the last year burning up his engine.

Not-Sherlock dropped it to the floor and cupped John's face in his hands. He licked at the blood on his face. Delicately. Sweetly. With a sort of awestruck expression. "Was this your plan all along? To draw Victorious out of his palace. Get him away from his guards. Give our children everything we dreamed of? Was this why you left?"

"Yeah," John feeling more than a bit dizzy from Victor's last blow. Kind of thought he had a concussion. "You should have trusted me. I'm amazing."

Not-Sherlock's grin grew wider and more manic. "That means you were never angry with me. You didn't really leave me at all. You did it all for us."

John brushed back not-Sherlock's curls. He didn't mean to. Something in his center felt soft and gooey. "I was angry. Still pretty angry." Really there was something wrong with him that he felt the need to comfort this version of Sherlock.

Not-Sherlock crushed his face against John's chest. "Oh, that was so dangerous. You could have been killed and then there would I be? I was so upset. You know that I can't always control myself. That's what you do. You leash me." Not-Sherlock peppered John's collar bone with kisses. "I should have trusted you had a plan."

"Yeah," John tapped Not-Sherlock's velvet covered shoulder. Found himself petting it. Soft cloth. Ringing ears. "You should have. You've treated me very badly since I came back." He sifted through some of the Sherlock's fantasies and made a stab in the dark. "You didn't trust me. The first time we were together after I came back should have been about us." He leaned forward and whispered in not-Sherlock's ear. "You naked on your knees in front of me while I fucked you. "Not-Sherlock shuddered. "It should not have been me naked and you clothed in front of a room full people not worth my socks. Your socks. Some socks." John felt like he was losing the plot of his thread, but really the entire day had been a bit much. "So I'm mad about that." He pulled further away from not-Sherlock.

Not-Sherlock didn't explode in anger. He huffed and flounced back and forth with a sulky expression, looking much like a child who'd been caught doing something they shouldn't. "That wasn't my fault."

"I didn't see no dick Victor making you fuck me on your throne as if I was nothing. Here I go to all this trouble to kill him, make our dreams come true, and you don't appreciate it." John put his face in his hand, because he really couldn't keep going while not-Sherlock was pacing faster and faster just like Sherlock. "I took great personal risk to make that happen and you didn't even deduce what I was doing. I don't think you care."

"I care," said not-Sherlock in a very soft voice. He knelt in one graceful move at John's feet. Shuffling closer and close. "I care very much." He rested his head against John's belly. His scent so familiar and just as lovely as always. "I'm sorry. You've always said you love it when we copulate on the throne for everyone to see. You always said it was your very favorite thing. When everyone sees you ride me like I'm your," he swallowed, his lovely voice dropping even lower, "favorite stallion and you’re the Human. When you're in charge and not a single one of them clever enough to see what’s happening in front of their very eyes."

John stroked his fingers through not-Sherlock's hair. It was just as soft and silky as Sherlock's.

"Say you forgive me. Please, say it." Not-Sherlock peppered his belly with kisses. Nuzzled at the base of John's increasingly interested cock. He waved at the hall with its burnt smell. "I killed the guards who held me back. It'll be wonderful now." He leapt up, looped his arm through John's and tugged him out of the room. John did not look down at the floor as they passed by several corpses. They reached another overdone parlor. This one with some living people in it. Not-Sherlock stopped. "Kneel before your new Khan," he squeezed John's arm and winked at John, "and their consort."

As if on cue, John felt a viscous slickness between his legs.

Which meant he hadn't killed Victor a moment too soon. He knew that was the moment Sherlock's brain caught up to what he must be sensing, because his eyes widened. Especially now that there wasn't the scent of any number of dead bodies to interfere.

The various guards and courtiers looked at each other. They got on their knees. Sherlock beamed at them. He glanced at John. Another squeeze. Beamed some more. "Excellent, have the corpse removed from our nest. Better yet, burn everything in there."

Just then, several teenagers holding various weapons dashed into the room. Skidding to a halt at the sight of John and Sherlock and the kneeling crowd.

Sherlock, no not-Sherlock's hold on John loosened. He hyperventilated just a bit. "Trois Primus. Zwei Tertius. Vier Tertius. Sei Quartus." More teens pushed into the room. Pre-teens. Not-Sherlock went from a bit hyperventilating to ventilating like a broken engine. "No. No. No. Irregulars to the wind, not gather in the viper's nest. If you'd come a few minutes earlier. You could have… then you'd be… like Primus and Secundus… although they lived good lives. But they're dead aren't they and I'll never see them again and…" not-Sherlock picked up a very expensive looking thing and smashed it on a wall where it shattered in a million pieces.

The younger kids flinched. The royal court stared stolidly at the ground.

John slapped not-Sherlock. A broad flat crack across his jaw. "Sherlock, calm down. You're frightening the kids." Seriously how was he doing emotional labor for the other John's family.

Not-Sherlock nodded. "Yes, yes. I just… Always a mistake to forecast might have beens. Probabilities, but Trois Primus, I depend on you to be…you're all that I have left of them. Do you understand? I can't lose any more of you."

Trois Primus said stolidly, "I'm sorry father. You were in danger and we thought…" Tears were trickling down the kid's face. Kid, John told himself to adjust his ringing thoughts. Almost an adult. Late teens, older by several years and inches than the other kids, with straight black hair in a sharp bowl cut. Pale complexion. A flush lit up his face all the way down to the middle of his chest. Obvious, cuz the kid was starkers for some reason.

"Everyone out of the room," said John wobbling a bit, which earned him Not-Sherlock swooping in to support him. John blinked and leaned into Sherlock to keep his balance. Victor had hit him pretty hard. Sherlock smelled really nice. Very nice.

Sherlock said, "You heard what your Khan said. You should already be obeying. Out. Out. Out."

The room cleared of everyone not related to them. The other them. There were more than a dozen kids. Tall and short and skinny and a little plump and blond and brunette, a few ginger, some clothed, some naked, some pale as paper and some the teak that looked like Noonian or Meiying's coming through into the blend.

All turning starved looking eyes at the two of them.

Not-Sherlock glowed at John. "I know I've been saying very unpleasant things about your mother. That he didn't love us anymore. But your mother loved us enough to murder my brother and cut off his cock." He squeezed John, which was warm and lovely. "No one could love us better."

John really wanted to collapse into Sherlock. Could feel the signs of his heat warming up.

"Really," said a blue eyed girl with Sherlock's thick black hair in curling ringlets all the way down her back. She at least had some clothes on. Seriously, the amount of nudity in this universe made John's head hurt. Her voice was soft, "Did you actually, umm… his," she waggled her little finger and a faint blush stained her high cheekbones. Really, John and Sherlock made some really pretty children, lots of pretty children, thought John muzzily.

"Yes, Sei Quartus," crowed Sherlock. Not-Sherlock. "You shouldn't be here. I'm very upset, but I'm glad that you are because he did. And you all should have seen how your mother dressed the body. I'll show you all the recording from the camera that Victorious didn't think I knew about. But, I know everything."

"Didn't know about Mum's plan," muttered a kid with bright blue hair and his grandfather Noonian's complexion.

"Shut up, Cinque Tertius!" said another one of the children. They started to shove and squabble like a murder of crows.

"Kids. No fighting," said John trying to focus. "It wasn't just me. I had help. Sally Donovan and um…" John could not remember Sh'Alaack's cover identity or… it had been a long day. "Bihr Sh'Alaack. The Andorian who held the tray. She slipped me the weapon."

"Sh'Alaack, but she's," Trois Primus tried somewhat ineffectively to keep his siblings from killing each other, "Mummy, did you promise that we would save her race from reproductive annihilation?"

John wasn't sure how much of this would stick if he disappeared, but he had to try. "Uh, yes, I promised that your father would revive her race. She helped me. Lots. She gave me the weapon that I used to kill dickless Vic." Remembered that he'd already said that. Snuggled closer to Sherlock and smiled at his kids. Not his kids. Some kids. Really lovely kids. So many kids.

Trois Primus said in a small voice. "Grandmother Brittanus did a very good job retrofitting the original virus that gave the Breen their reproductive troubles."

Blue hair muttered, "Technically two separate viruses."

Epicanthic brown eyes said, "The first one wasn't a virus. It was a retrogene that,"

"Acted like a virus," said blue hair angrily.

Murmurs John couldn't make out.

"Daddy, I wish you'd retrogene us," said blue eyed blond, looking so much like Harry and John at that age that it hurt. "I don't like the suppressors, but I don't want to… Juvenile Heat sucks arse."

"You wanna suck arse," said, John wasn't sure which kid had said it, but there was a shoving match among the kids.

Blue hair, immune to the moods of the crowd said, "And the 6th Alignment's second virus was meant to,"

"Get rid of Inferiors like you. Inferior." More shoving.

Trois Primus was looking desperate.

"Quiet," shouted John and regretted it. His head hurt. Kids quieted though. Like lions. Wide eyed lions.

"Yes, yes," said Sherlock. Not-Sherlock. "But good attention to detail. Easier to deploy than to take back."

"But I have faith that you can reverse it," said John.

Sherlock preened. "Of course I can."

John smiled at him. He was such a child sometimes, then stopped the thought. His main goal wasn't all these kids or getting the Andorians back on track to not dying. "Anyway, they um… helped me and uh," he squinted at Trois Primus, "There's more um… plan and stuff. You should get them here and give them everything they need. Nicely. Kay."

"Yes, Mother. I'll take care of it." Trois Primus stood up straight as a board. "You can depend on me. Mother, about before,"

John groaned. Couldn't be helped. The lights were too bright and everything was too everything.

"Oh, no," said one of the younger kids. "Should we do something? Mummy will be so upset with Daddy."

Sherlock blushed and examined the intricate floor, "No. No. While Mummy was away I invented something that will enable us to avoid… consequences." He looked at the teens, "We love you. We do. Mummy too no matter what I said before." He took John's hand and kissed it. "I know I've said this before, but this time it will absolutely work. We won't even share coitus." He placed his other hand on his heart. "I promise."

Blue hair rolled his eyes. "That's all we need. More of us to ignore."

Trois Primus looked alarmed. Even more alarmed. No doubt scenting the same thing that not-Sherlock did. That John's heat had progressed to about five minutes away from humping not-Sherlock's legs. Which wouldn't stay not-Sherlock's leg for long.

Sherlock looked suddenly worried, "My light, you cut that very closely. What if you'd gone into heat when Victorious. But no, you must have been on black market suppressants. What if… it was probably fever that interfered with your suppressants. It's highly unlikely that it was me… the effect of my… possibly it was a result of...really Quintus was the only time that happened. Fine. Septimus too. But…"

Trois Primus tapped on what appeared to be a solid wall, which opened up into some form of turbo lift. "Father, maybe you should take Mother somewhere private while he's vulnerable. I'll see to everything."

John should do anything other than lace his fingers through Sherlock's hand. Not-Sherlock. Then again, he had just finished a very detailed research study on heat. With some promising research implications.

John leaned against Sherlock's lovely warm lovely side. Told the room. "Get Donovan and Sh'Alaack what they need." John hoped Sh'Alaack had a plan to get out of this mad universe. Also, that Sherlock knew what he was doing.

Not-Sherlock.

Or that John knew what he was doing.

That anyone knew what anyone was doing.


	17. Sally Donovan's POV

Sally had made it as far as the Palace outer security when a teen, who was so obviously a chip off Holmes' block it may as well have been a holographic sing over his head, showed up and ushered her through security. Prince Trois Primus might be as naked as the day he was born, but every guard deferred to him. The reason became clear as Sally found out that Watson had taken out the former Khan, and now Krazyverse Holmes was the new Khan or something.

Not what Sally had expected after Sh'Alaack's last message. 

Nor did she expect Trois Primus to bring her to a very advanced looking lab, not that labs were her thing, apparently on Watson's request. It was good to be the consort. Sh'Alaack was already there eying the industrial grade replicator and shiny machines hungrily.

Trois Primus, which was a stupid arse name if anyone asked her, said, "I want to thank both of you for helping Mummy. I don't know if we'll be able to fulfill Mummy's promise about the retrovirus, but you can be assured our research will have the full power of the Khanate behind the effort."

"Great," said Donovan. "Probably best if you leave so we can get to doing stuff for your mum."

Trois Primus looked at them suspiciously and fiddled with the straight ends of his shiny arse hair. 

Suspicious was fine. Sally would be too if she lived here. Actually, she was suspicious and didn't live here.

He said, "This is not to attempt to build a time machine is it? My brothers and sisters decided to travel into the past of their own accord. It was the repayment of the Khans’ promise to the alignments that gained their loyalty for our conquest."

Sally had no fucking idea what Trois Primus was on about, but if there was a way to end this nightmare maybe they should pull off some time travel before they went. Sh'Alaack knew whatever the fuck formula it was that Holmes had used the last few times.

"No," said Sh'Alaack softly. "We went to the Guardian of Forever, have you heard of it?"

Trois Primus nodded, "I… Father mentioned it a few times. After, Mummy left."

"It turns out that point in time is too fragile for more time travel. So, no this is for something else." Sally had to give it to Sh'Alaack. She was giving their cover her all.

"Did Mummy," Trois Primus looked at his hands, "Daddy said that Mummy might be going to save his life. Or that he hated all of us and had abandoned us forever. One of those."

"I… believe your Mother did save your Father's life in the past," said Sh'Alaack. "Sorry, but I was monitoring our ship to ensure we hadn't disrupted the timeline too much. I do not know many of the details."

"Good. At least, yes, that's good," said Trois Primus, clearly in no mood to leave the room. He even started picking things up and fidling with them, which had Sh'Alaack twitching.

Sally took one for the team. "Come on kid, let's leave her to implementing the rest of your mum's plan. Stretch our legs."

Trois Primus followed Sally out the door leaving Sh'Alaack to get with the science.

They walked a bit in silence, but something was eating at the kid. "Spit it out, kid."

Trois Primus hunched his shoulders. "Did Mummy mention me while you were traveling together?"

"Reason she should have?" 

Trois Primus sighed. Sighed again.

"Out with it, I don't have all day and for fuck's sake," she glared at him, gangly bits all hanging, "put some fucking clothes on."

"But I am not an Augment Superior. I don't have the right genetics."

"I don't give a fuck. Your Mum just ganked the old Khan. You can have some pants. Trousers. Maybe a shirt."

She corralled a servant and got him some fucking clothes, before resuming their keep him away from the lab stroll, which had them outside and in some sprawling gardens. She spotted a teaming swarm of kids off on and exercise field and did not go that way. She went the other way. She hardly needed to be questioned by more freek spawn. "Now, that I can think, what has you sighing like a ventilator?"

That got another sigh. "Mummy and I argued just before he left. I called him some terrible names. Told him that I knew he'd never wanted us. And that he was happy Grandmother took us the moment we were born, and I… I know it wasn't his fault that Grandmother…" He flapped a hand just like Holmes. "I said some very unpleasant things about that too. I was so upset that my brothers and sisters had gone to the past. I know it's silly, but I heard about the party the Alignments held for them at the Concordia before they left. But everyone was so proud of them. I was proud of them. I wanted Mummy to be proud of me too. I… just felt so bad that I wasn't worthy to go with them and he didn't care."

"Shut the fuck up right there." Sally felt a million years old, but this came with the territory. "Guessing you kept things going while your mum was away, because I think we both know your father didn't."

Trois Primus blushed and nodded.

"Made sure your little brothers and sisters didn't try to fucking kill each other."

"Tertius helped." His mouth got all teen angst folded. "When they weren't arguing with me. It was easier when my litter mates and Secundus were here. We were always the oldest. The only ones to have been at the Khans' court when the center of the empire was on Earth and not split up between there and here. Tertius are the closest in age, but with so many of us and Mummy and Father always so busy, and so wound up in each other, I don't… it's hard. I miss my litter mates."

To stop herself from thinking about how raw this kid was, she said, "What kind of fucking prick move is it to name your kids fucking numbers?"

"It was Grandmother Brittanus' idea, and then Mother was so angry about Tertius and Quartus. All of us really. It's why I always thought… and Father loves us, but he's not good at that sort of thing. There are just so many of us you understand. Which well, you know how unusual Mummy is. Everyone expects Daddy to be immune, but a carrier, 23rd Alignment pure blood and all that, but most Inferior, well, what with the retrovirus' venereal transference, there's no Secundus, much less Tertius, and..."

"They could have fucking opened a fucking book of baby names," said Sally. "Anyway, Brittanus was a fucking bitch," said Sally, who felt she could be authoritative on this issue. "Take it from me."

Trois Primus giggled and then realized he'd broken a smile and resumed his dignified mopey look.

Sally briefly squeezed the kid's shoulder, earning a startled look. Could have given it to herself. She had no idea where the gesture had come from. "Seems to me, future's in good hands. And I don't mean your parents." Which resulted in a snort from Trois Primus. "That's it, I'm calling you Prince Valiant. Val for short." Her mum had carried an old copy of a collection of Prince Valiant comics with his square cut black hair everywhere they'd gone. She hadn't thought of the git in years. "No more of this numbered name shite." Prince Val actually giggled.

More walking through the gardens. Sally rambled a bit about what she remembered from the old comic. She was terrible at storytelling, but he got the jist. Even if he protested at the historical inaccuracies, which come to think of it had been her as a teen too. 

They ended up in some sort of orchard that had been burnt and hacked at.

Prince Val told the burnt ground. "I also wanted to thank you about the other thing." More blushing. Kid blushed a lot. Made Sally feel a million years old. "You may think I was too young, but I remember when Uncle Victorious killed Grandmother and our Grandfathers. Uncle Mycroft. I remember what you did for us." He smiled briefly at her. "You were kind then too."

"Uh," Sally really had nowhere to go with that.

"I was so scared and there was so much blood and, you told us to hold hands and be fucking quiet while you took us to the Admiral of the 13th Alignment's flagship. Told us they'd keep us safe. You stayed with us through all nine days of the war of succession that followed. Then you disappeared when Victorious became Khan. I always wondered what happened to you. Hoped you weren't executed. My siblings said you did to gain favor with our father, but…"

"Not everyone does things for advancement kid." She hoped that the other her hadn't fallen so far as to be a prick like the rest of this reality.

"Then you're very naive," was the reply from the kid not old enough to grow a beard.

"Nah, Prince Valiant," and really Watson should be the one rambling to the poor kid, "People do that kind of thing all the time. Federation was full of them once upon a time."

Kid looked at her thoughtfully. "That's right. You served on a Federation ship. You were trapped in a time vortex until Grandmother Brittanus freed you. Is that why Mummy approached you for help? Was it because you'd helped us before? Mummy never mentioned that time. Did you approach Mummy?" Every little question said in such a tiny sliver of a tone that didn't dare reach for hope, but was going to anyway.

"All of the above." Probably the best possible spin on events, which kind of hurt Sally's brain and the lining around her heart. She preferred hard truths to soft fictions, but the kid seemed to need a little less soft. "And here you are, thanking me for doing something kind. When you won't get anything out of that thanks. But there you are doing it." Really Sally was not the person for this sort of tap dance, "Dig up some history about people being decent and you'll have a model for being a good deal more Valliant, and a lot less a number. Problem solved." 

She made some suggestions. Kid poked holes and pointed out all the flaws. Until she had to say, "I didn't say perfect. I said not everyone is pure shite." They walked a good bit farther and she felt like she had to add, "And remember, even when things get fucked up, and you fuck up, because you will, there's always a chance to fix it. And if the first try fails, just keep trying."

She made herself stop rambling before she told him to be his best self or some such shite. "You good, Valiant?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Prince Val somberly.

"Well, then I'll just head back," she waved at the stupidly huge palace.

He nodded and went to join his horde of siblings.

Sally gave a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure she could have taken much more of that.

Sh'Alaack gave her a relieved look as she came into the lab and locked the door. "I was concerned that you might not make it back."

"Yeah, well, family drama." Sally checked the lock. Then had to ask, because she'd basically arrived at the palace and went to Watson's non-rescue. "So, what's the situation?"

"With the new equipment, I've been able to build a scaled up model for a device that will simulate the same conditions that brought us here and calculated the next best time for us to try to go back."

"But," because there was always a but.

"We need our opposites to return here at the same time." Sh'Alaack bent her head. "The Captain will need to convince our duplicates to return here."

"Fuck!" because Sally couldn't imagine anyone missing enough isolinear chips to want to return to this hellscape.

"Also, while I can send a message one way to let them know when we are making the attempt, it will by asynchronous, not synchronous," at Sally's what the fuck does that mean look, she said, "it won't be a two way transmission. We will only know if they got the transmission if we transport back to our reality. Or we can wait to see if they develop a method to asynchronously communicate back, but the more time we're in this reality, the more likelihood that..." at Sally's scowl Sh'Alaack changed what would probably be a stupidly complicated explanation for, "it will be harder. Very hard."

"And if they don’t and we try anyway?" because it was worth knowing the worst of it.

"We might fall into an endless chain of realities." Sh'Alaack's antennae drooped. "Or we might disintegrate."

"Fucking inspirational." Sally planned to open the fifteen year Oban if she ever actually made it back home. She's promised herself that after the last few missions, but this time she was cracking it open. End of story.

Sally thought some more. "We should contact the Maquis. Tell them that things are in flux and to wait for our signal. Make sure they don't try to fucking blow up the building we need to beam out of."

Sh'Alaack tossed her a control collar. "You can use this."

Message sent, Sally looked around the lab. Not sure what to do. Found herself saying, "Holmes is Khan Brittanus' kid. Other Khans too. Breen are a bunch of fucking Augments that near as I can tell are somehow descended from Holmes and Watson's kids. Bunch of aggressive backstabbing colonialist killers." Though that didn’t jibe with Trois Primus. Prince Valiant. Good kid there. Needed some direction. Some actual God-damned parenting as opposed to being stuck parenting his brothers and sisters, but a good kid.

Sh'Alaack sighed. "I researched the other me. Stopped when I was only able to stomach how her journey twisted her so much. If I have gained anything from this experience, it is the knowledge that it is easy to be a holy person in the paradise that is the Federation. Settled worlds. But here or on a colony world where resources are suddenly slim, it is less so. I met Kodos here. Watson's father. He appeared the same. If slightly more broken than the man from our reality."

She shook her head and Sally remembered the other half of Watson's family drama, and its connection to Sh'Alaack. Good reminder that every verse had its share of crazy.

While she was kind of absorbing that, Sh'Alaack kept speaking. "We have served with Captain Holmes for over a decade. I do not know what events occurred to make this version what he is. Just as I will never truly understand what drove Kodos to think that the way to save lives was to kill them, my parents included. I can only move forward with what I do know. Captain Holmes is not a mass murderer. He's a good man. Doctor Watson is a good man. I'm proud to serve with them." She lifted her chin. "I'm not an imposter. I'm the me I'm meant to be."

Whatever that meant.

There was a good chance they might disintegrate. So, not much reason to worry about the Khans, alive and kicking, and probably trying to pull off some version of this reality in their own. She'd take up that cup of steaming trouble when they got there.

Try to have a little faith that the next generation in this Krazyverse could get something right.


	18. Lucy Hebron's POV

Lucy listened to Sherlock and thought, "That's a new one for us." Still, it wasn't as if she didn't have the materials. Hadn't made the presentation dozens of times. She sent Eva down to visit the twins. Their parents were frantic as might be expected.

She went down to Sickbay where Sh'Alaack was rattling at force bonds.

Except it wasn't. Unless people lost ten kilos in a week and gained a healed blast scar on their right hand, and a feral look.

Sh'Alaack wouldn't have twitched her antenna and sneered at her. "If it isn't one of the monstrous masters come to check my chains. See if you have broken my spirit. You cannot. You will not. I am shen. I am the water that burns."

"Uh," said Lucy, who really was not getting into a discussion about colonialism with a doppleganger of her friend. "Yeah. Okay. I understand you came here from another dimension. In this dimension, you're a friend of mine. Our children study together. Play and fight and play together." She thought about it. "They're actually in a play that John, um… the other Augment, is helping them put on."

The other Sh'Alaack's turned a bright blue. "I do not have a child! The father of the prince's pet killed my future bondmates. My parents. Inflicted my race with a virus that destroyed the future. What there was. It's what your kind does."

"Well, in this reality, you have four children."

"Now, I know you're a liar." The other Sh'Alaack sat back in her bed.

"Yeah." Lucy called up her presentation and tabbed to the third slide. She'd updated it for the conference. A photo of the twins, Thil and Shor, grinning out of the screen. The younger twins had been feeling shy, and it wasn't as the presentation had needed them. Lucy had come prepared with copies Ishros' books in a stack. His latest book, "The Bakerstreet Twins and the Hollow World" was on top. "I'd hand them to you, but," she waved at the force bonds. "I'd worry that you'd try and kill me."

"Yes, try and avoid that," said Julian, looking up from where he was monitoring Sh'Alaack's vitals. "Violet is looking forward to our get together later this week." Lucy ignored him and held up the books. 

The other Sh'Alaack turned her face away. "I don't know this Ishros. And I do not know what lie you have created. I do not care."

"But you saw Andor. You saw it was full of Andorians. There must have been children. The Andorian's are having a population boom. You know that this is a different reality."

"I know that you are not an Andorian. That I have been taken from my people and brought to a ship full of humans."

"Yes, fine," said Lucy, who did have a pre-teen daughter, and knew when to cut off an argument. "That's not what I'm here to talk to you about." She called up a star chart. "In this reality, this is a Federation ship."

"And yet it is still the Human's playground. A species without…"

"I'm trying to tell you there's a way to improve your people's reproductive rates," said Lucy calmly. "We got a message from the other you and she let us know a few things about how things are in your reality."

"Prince William's pet made the same promises. Lies. He thinks he is using me. As all his kind use. As you are no doubt trying to use me."

"Look, I don't know anything about the retrovirus, but I do know your species had a declining population due to low reproductive rates in this reality and in your reality." said Lucy, who did kind of wish she was puttering with her plants after a long and very tiring conference, "On this world," she clicked to the slide that displayed the location, "there's a plant that affects Andorian reproduction for the better. As in dramatically increased success at conception. Twins and triplets. Increased years for reproduction for all four genders from the current range of three to five years in your early twenties to well into your late forties. I'm one of the two foremost experts on how it works." Technically by now there were thousands of doctors all over the Federation fairly familiar with multiple treatment options, but the other expert couldn't come near Bihr without her trying to kill him. "Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?"

The other Sh'Alaack subsided. "I will listen."

"Good." Lucy could feel her cheeks heating up. "Also, there is something I'd like to ask you to do. Or not do when you get there."

"Of course, and here is the price for your information."

"Oh, I'll tell you what I know. Give you a file to take with you when you go. I just… don't go to the palace. Don't do what you're planning on doing there. The other you warned us that John's father is there and... don't kill him. I remember when John's dad died in this reality and… I don't want that for him in yours."

The other Sh'Alaack's lips pulled back to reveal white teeth and pale blue gums. "He doesn't care or he would not have approached me."

Since the other John was currently locked alone in the holodeck, because he'd gone into heat, she couldn't ask the other version of her friend. Really, it wasn't the point.

"You don't think so, but… I'm guessing deep down he does. I get the impression from um… our captain that if his father is there, it's because John wants him there. And if you do kill his father, and you don't kill him, and the Prince, and it sounds like a lot of grandchildren, you're never going to get to go to this world and save your people from extinction." She tapped the planet on the screen. "Just saying. First step to making a better world is start working on it. Also, you'll want to wear a haz-mat suit and bring a trained botanist. It's harder to uproot mature plants than might think."

Lucy restarted the presentation from the beginning.


	19. John's POV

The lift opened into a room that was sort of a cross between a forest of brilliantly colored squat silk mushrooms and a mad scientist's lab.

"Are you honestly storing hytritium next to tricyanate?" John stared at the bubbling liquid. "Do you want the building to explode?"

Not-Sherlock tilted his head. "How do you know that's hytritium and that's tricyanate?" His face cleared. "Ah, because you've been listening to me while I work." He puttered among various devices. "As I said, I've been working on something while you were away so we could share your heats safely without," he gave John a nervous glance, "consequences, while still," he made a little shimmy, "ensuring you don't…you can be quite insistent and I… always want to say yes to you." This last bit came out in a rush.

John wondered if this was the universe's revenge for past events in his life. Past lives. Other lives. Certainly, several thousand scenarios in the holodeck.

Revenge or not, John needed to do something fast or this whole situation was going to go in a bad direction. While Sherlock was puttering, John made a few requests on the replicator. Liquid with electrolytes. A hot towel to wipe the worst of the blood off. Two hypos to his specs. 

Took a careful seat on a scarlet mushroom wondering about his life choice when not-Sherlock pulled out the most complicated looking device he'd ever seen. "What the buggeryfuck is that?"

A hurt look crossed Sherlock's face. Not-Sherlock. "It's what I built for you. I know it looks a little different than the last one, but this time it really will work. Lie back and I'll set it up."

John's head hurt. His entire body hurt. He had a possible solution to his current problem, which had looked great in a presentation at a conference and during computer trials, but was years away from human testing. It was about to get a jump forward on the research trial series and he hoped he had the dosage right. Course, first, certain conditions had to occur, which would make thinking straight tricky to say the least. "Yeah. Sure." John lolled back as not-Sherlock dragged the thing over it. "That is very complicated looking."

"It goes to eleven," said not-Sherlock looking very serious. He adjusted the prongs. There were prongs.

"Why are there three… Oh dear God," said John, as not-Sherlock slid a lubricated slender rod into his anal tract, a larger vibrating rod into his vaginal tract, and adjusted a pulsating tube over his cock. He was simultaneously stroked and caressed. It took him less than a minute to come given his current state of arousal. "Ngh!"

"It'll reset to the next in the series after each release," said not-Sherlock, who paused in the process of undressing to adjust a dial. "That was one.."

"Why are you taking off your… Oh God, that's," John arched his back. The rods increased their rhythm. "Clothes. Why?" He looked warily at not-Sherlock's very erect, very hard cock currently standing at a ninety degree angle from his slim muscular and increasingly naked body. Ribs showing. Belly gaunt. This Sherlock had been riding himself hard for far too long.

"You said I should have been naked. Skin on skin," Sherlock's, Not-Sherlock's voice had dropped into a boot deep rumble. Deep as his intoxicating scent. Not Sherlock climbed onto the mushroom next to John. "I'll just touch you, here." He rested his bare foot against John's leg and seemed to get some answer from John's expression, which was that feet were fine. Nice. He reached down between the mushrooms and pulled up another tubular device with an enigmatic series of tiny arms sticking out from it. His hair fell over his face. He looked at John shyly through the strands. "I know you don't like it when I use artificial… Please, say it's fine if I use this. It's synced to your hip movements." He smiled hopefully.

The vibrating rod inside John had grown a bulging knot at its lower end, which was driving John insane as it twisted in and out of him. "S'fine. Fuck, you're a genius."

Sherlock beamed and placed the tube thing around his cock. Adjusted some bits where John couldn't see them. The little arms off the cock sheath started to move, gliding in strange patterns. Sherlock appeared to be thrusting up into it, and yet it didn't move.

"S'antigrav?"

"Yes, not as good as you." Sherlock stroked John's calf with his foot. "Nothing is anything as good as you."

The vibrating device whirred and pulsed faster and faster, until the larger rod's knot suddenly knotted to firmly press exactly where John needed it to. He shouted. Release coming in all directions. Floating over it all, he felt the golden fireburst as an ovum was released.

He also felt warm liquid spurt inside of him. John squinted at the device attached to Sherlock's cock. There was a narrow force field connecting the device on Sherlock's cock and the device currently pumping John full of what he had to assume was Sherlock's cum. Not-Sherlock. Not-Sherlock. Not-Sherlock.

Words slurring, John asked, "Doesn't that...ummm defeat...oh, God….fuck yeah….purpose?"

Sherlock stroked the arch of John's foot with his big toe softly. "Sterilized molecularly. So you don't remove want to the device. That's what I missed the last time. Sure of it." Another stroke. "Are you pleased?"

John sighed. With so much stimulation, John couldn't help but flex his hips up.

Sherlock arched his back and groaned. The little arms moved rapidly and John watched in sort of fascination as a stream of cum was pumped out of one device and into another. Into him. Filling him as he wanted to be filled. Finally the knot decreased. John could feel the cum trickling out of him, venting out through the device still inside him.

John slumped back exhausted. He lay there limply on the mushroom as Sherlock tenderly adjusted both devices. Sherlock pecked him on the lips. "Happy?"

John flapped a hand. Mostly astonished that whatever it was he was lying on was absorbing all the cum sliding out of him. He rubbed his back against the dry smooth surface. "Mmm… no."

Sherlock seemed to take this to be an invitation to fall on top of John and cuddle him.

"What about," John sighed, "No, fucking… fuck, that's nice."

"Safe with devices in." He kissed John tenderly. "Level three."

"Maybe… farther away." John had a pretty good idea how high any Sherlock in any universe's self-control went, and it was not eleven. It possibly wasn't three.

Sherlock slithered down John's body to kneel at John's feet. "Far enough?"

John hazily thought that there was enough equipment in this room to blow up a small moon, but couldn't rouse himself to do more than drowse. He'd had a fuck of a day.

Blinked. There was something he needed to remember.

Sherlock moved his nose across John's right big toe. "I'll be good." He started suckling on that big toe. Although, John didn't have a lot of hope that he'd stay down there.

Still, it meant John could pick up the first hypo and inject himself. After two rounds of release and vaginal distention, timing should be right. The effect wasn't immediate. No sudden burst of clarity.

More like a dawn. First everything going a little bit grey. A dim sense of objects and then enough light to see.

Enough to see not-Sherlock work his way quite thoroughly through John's toes and feet. Whispering the whole time "Love me. Kill for me." Nipping and nuzzling John's calves, as the next round of heat worked its way through John's body. More like late heat though. Almost relaxed and lazy.

John couldn't help himself from tangling his fingers in Sherlock's hair as John pulled off the cock sleeve so Sherlock could lap and lick at John's cock until John came with a shout. His legs fell slightly apart of their own accord. "I… I…"

Level three was amazing. Two more gold bead explosions to go with the rounds of release.

But as he came down, he finally hit daybreak.

So with a kiss to the top of not-Sherlock's head, he injected him the other hypo. Enough tranquilizer to take down an elephant. Not-Sherlock was out like a light immediately. A massive warm limp weight that took time to roll off him.

John really shouldn't have wasted time on cleaning himself up, but he was frankly disgusting. There was a waterfall shower in what John could not quite call a bathroom just off the workroom. He got cleaned up. Thought of something, but he'd deal with the problem later. Replicated some reasonable clothes. He even found, treasure of treasures, his old clothes. Neatly folded and sitting on a display plinth with a small sign, "The second time Mummy came back." There was a display next to it with another set of clothes. "Day Mummy was returned to Daddy." Which was all shrine creepy, but had what John really wanted, which was his com badge.

"Sh'Alaack. Donovan. This is Watson."

"About time," said Donovan. "Sh'Alaack has what we need. We need to transport out of Freedom Plaza in five hours or as I understand it, this gets a lot harder. I was getting ready to find you. Can you make it there under your own power?"

John glanced at where not-Sherlock was cuddling a mushroom. "Yeah, I can make it."

He took the turbo lift down. Thinking. 

He should be thinking about how he should get out of this place, but really, he kept being haunted by that horde of kids' eyes. Hungry for a look or a glance or a little parental attention. He didn't have a lot of faith in his other self, but he did know where there was a very solid Dad in the palace.

He shouldn't waste time on this. Maybe that's why he did it.

He got directions from the lift computer and went back to the dungeon level. His father was there. Cleaning equipment. Wonderfully alive.

He said, "Dad, I want you to come with me."

"Ah, has my time finally come." Watson's Krayverse dad held out his wrists. "My sins come to final roost as the bodies stack as were I some later day Macbeth and within their shat are the seeds that grow my forest Dunsinane."

Not the best start, but John had to try. "Dad, what are you doing buried down here? You've got grandchildren out there, who need someone to give them some structure. Inspiring stories."

The old man shook his head. "Son, you know I've none such. Murderer. Bawd of a procurer. All smiling delight when we fled to the Khanate ahead of the pogroms and my Lord Brittanus discovered that the seed of what they were looking for was in my own children. Thinking you too young to go to any prince's bed, I was more than happy to see you go to what I thought was safety. Advancement. Smiling Polonius, I rambled my truisms about becoming the prince's friend, and turned a deaf ear to your sister's tears and your rage. All blood since."

John was not going to rub his face. He didn't have much time. "Dad. I want you to tell my kids the Lady of the Flowers story."

His Dad smiled sadly. "Those were Elise's stories. It's good that she didn't live to see what became of her children."

Which was a different punch in the gut, but John didn't have time. No time. No time. No time.

"I know you know them. I know you played the Analyst to Mom's Lady of Flowers for standing ovations."

"A happier time, before..."

"No, stop there. You've got a whole lot of too smart for their own good grandchildren, who could use some attention from someone who's not out to use them or twist them. I know you can do that. There were almost a hundred people in our company before I…" John wasn't sure he should go down too far down into details that could well have been different in this universe. "I looked up your record on Camus II. Before everything went so badly, you were a good governor. Before everything went so wrong. Go be a good grandfather."

His dad blinked at him like a big old owl. "I...was storyteller once. An all too brief time upon the stage."

"Be one again." John took his father's hand. Warm and alive. Got directions to where Trois Primus was talking with the horde. Made his ovaries hurt looking at them. John said, "Here's your grandpa. He's going to do a one man show about the Lady of the Flowers and the Analyst, while I run some errands."

One of not his kids flipped her hair and said, "Mummy, I don't want to hear some..."

"You have no idea how good it's going to be." John squeezed his father's shoulder. "I love you. You've got this."

His father smiled at him, and in all of about three minutes, the man had the kids in the palm of his hand. Listening rounded eyed to a story that John had heard so many times. Had missed hearing from that voice.

"Mother, how did you get him to come out of the dungeon?" whispered Trois Primus. "He avoids us. How are you walking around outside the workshop? Shouldn't you be with father?" He glanced down to where they were both wearing clothes. "Oh. It's going to be different now, isn't it?"

"Hope so," said John, giving the kid a quick peck on the cheek and then a hug that had the boy shaking. "It's okay. It's alright. It's all good." After a moment, clock in his head ticking down, he gave a final squeeze and let go. "You've got this."

He headed to the flyer hanger. Had a guard stutter that John wasn't allowed to leave the palace. John was about to intimidate the poor kid, when not-Sherlock slunk in. Looking refreshed and perky. Holding a long thin device pointed at him.

The guard left very quickly.

"Uh, hi," said John.

Not-Sherlock stared at him. "The difference in your scent. You didn't remember the Ganva fruit. I thought you were subtly complimenting me for being clever enough to grow it here. I'm an idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Hytritium. Tricyanate. So many differences. My John would never have tranquilized me and left me to wake up alone. Never. Not at his most furious." Not-Sherlock leaned forward and hissed, "Who are you and where is my John?"

Which was a whole lot of angry Sherlock. Fortunate or not, John was done with angry Sherlock. "Alternative reality. Ion storm. Transporter accident."

Not-Sherlock started breathing faster and faster. Still holding the device.

"Hey, hey. Calm down."

"I need to get to him. I need him… he has to come back. I don't…" Not-Sherlock got a sort of crushed look. "My John didn't come back. He doesn't… you killed Victorious, not my John. He…"

"Loves you and is trying to get back to you right now."

"You don't know that. You don't know how angry he was."

"Well, I happen to be an expert on John Watson and," John pointed out the door of the hanger. "Do you see any black butterflies raining diamonds, because I don't. And I have it on good authority that that's what happens in universes where you and he aren't together."

Not-Sherlock tucked the device into his doublet and pulled out a separate, if less deadly looking thing that beeped when it pointed at John. "I'll need to do a resonance reversion."

"Already got it covered. The…"

"Andorian. Of course. Burns on her fingers. An engineer. I should have seen it. Why didn't I see it?"

"Maybe, and I'm going to go out on a limb here, that was the first real sleep you've had in a bit, but… I've got to be going. Look, you'll see your John soon, but um… just a suggestion. Don't dick around with excuses. Tell him you're sorry about not giving him a chance to say goodbyes to your kids. End stop. And give him his own throne. Or maybe a throne loveseat. Have the kids make it, he'll," John paused, but no felt he was on solid ground, "love it."

"But," Not-Sherlock flailed. "We had sex before you went into heat and with the…"

"Vaginal stimulation through distension of the posterior vagina, which caused me to release ovum. While your semen, in particular the heavy cruisers, remain viable for up to ten days. Yeah, I parsed that halfway through my shower."

"You really aren't my John and I bred you." Not-Sherlock tugged at his hair. "He's going to be so angry. Not that I've ever. Not since Mummy bred me with… never mind. He does sometimes. Prophylactic for the... although, that doesn't always…" Not-Sherlock blushed, "I bred you and you are a form of John. Why aren't you angry?"

"Look, I'll explain on the way. How about we head into the city so you can get your John back, yeah." 

Turned out when the new Khan wanted to go for a trip. No one stopped him.

Which was how John ended up giving his husband's nutty doppelganger a precis of his love life up to and including the box of holo cubes as they flew.

Not-Sherlock asked him softly, "Do you really think he was coming back."

"One way to find out," said John.

"What isoletric signature is your engineer using to keep the variability of the ionic energy…"

"Stop right there. Don't know. Don't care. She's got it sorted."

John looked back at the force shield glowing golden over the palace, receding in the distance, and the icy landscape that consumed the view. "You've got to know all this is pretty unsustainable."

"I have read history," said Not-Sherlock primly. "Studied biology. Beings protect their own offspring and attack the offspring of competitors. The only reason there is not more fighting among our children than there is comes as a result of external pressures that enforce pack mentality for survival. In one or two generations, they will compete for resources. It's what happened to Primus and Secundus' descendants. It's why the alignments ended up fighting to so much they practically doomed us as a species without an infusion of," he slid a glance at John, "the wild variability of genetics."

Family tragedy and fucked up verse or not, John had to laugh. "Sorry. I'm not laughing at you. It's just…actually I am laughing at you. That is some stupid Nihilistic shite." He was not having this argument with Sherlock again. He'd had it in his twenties and it looked a good deal different from this point in his life. "Maybe you should read a little less history and a bit more fantasy. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Robin Hood. The Scarlet Pimpernel. Get a little more aspirational and little less Darwinian biological doom and gloom."

Not-Sherlock looked at the controls. "While he was carrying Primus, and then Secundus, John would have me read read to him from books that his mother had sent with him. He didn't want that from after I got him back the first time, but... I liked the Count of Monte Christo."

"Makes sense. But it's a long book. Pay attention to the end, okay." John figured he'd better shut up from there. The flyer landed. They went down to the transporter level.

Donovan and Sh'Alaack were waiting for him. 

"What the fuck is he doing here?" asked Donovan.

"I'm the reason there was no one in this entire tower when you arrived. Or hadn't you noticed. I'm also double checking your work," said not-Sherlock, who began a rapid fire conversation with Sh'Alaack, who answered back, shouted once, and batted his hand away from the device jury rigged into the transporter console.

Eventually, not-Sherlock admitted that the science was sound and Sh'Alaack, said very firmly, "I know. I know what I'm doing."

They got on the transporter pad.

John told the wide eyed not-Sherlock, "He's just on the other side of the mirror."

A motion of not-Sherlock's hand, and the world dissolved in a transporter beam.

John flickered in and out of reality.

To find Sherlock, his Sherlock, standing in front of him.

It turned out he'd been wrong before. His Sherlock would pick him up and spin him around in front of everyone. Whisper, "I knew you would get back to me."

John laughed. Really that was all he could do.

He linked his arms around Sherlock's neck. "Take me home. On a shuttle maybe."


	20. Sally Donovan's POV

Sally was handed a stack of reports to complete. Holmes had gathered enough evidence to prove that their dopplegangers weren't them, but Republics, like Empires, ran on paperwork and lots of it.

She had her own report she was supposed to fill out on the reality where they'd ended up. The information would be stored somewhere in the bowels of Memory Alpha along with the resonance signature for that reality. Somewhere, a bunch of scientists would use this as their spank banks or something. Bunch of security analysts too she hoped.

She started the report on who Holmes really was a dozen times. Deleted it each time.

Smashed a glass full of that fifteen year McCallan. Cut herself. Not on purpose. She didn't think. Spent a good deal of time looking at her blood. She wondered, and this might have been whiskey talking, if that made her Holmes' sister. "Fuck, no."

She never had looked up records for the other her. She had looked at the recordings of herself being taken into custody. The other her had had stone cold eyes and a junkie's shiver.

The simplest thing was to just leave out one detail. Just one. After all, it wasn't as if she'd taken pictures of Prince William of Krazyverse.

The Federation got a warning about the Khans. S'Alaack suggested that Chin Singh might make an excellent substitution for Prince William. After all, only a limited number of crew members knew that Chin Singh was Holmes' sister. And she was already wanted.

Sally had no idea if some boffin was actually going to analyze her report. But it was there if they wanted it.


	21. Bihr Sh'Alaack's POV

Bihr was enfolded by her family.

Her children. Her bondmates. Her in-laws. Cousins.

There were a lot of people.

"I didn't need Holmes' information to know that shen was not you," said Khel, pushing a plate of kip seeds – Bihr's favorites – at Bihr.

"Her eyes were broken," said Ishros. "A plate dropped on the floor and glued together by a child. Chips missing."

Bihr put her hand over his. "She went through a great deal." She looked at her family. "How did you convince her to go back?"

"She was more than eager," said Shroleb.

Khel said, "Captain Holmes had Lucy to give information about the Ceti Sexus Pollinis and on how to use it."

"I met Eshess Sh'Evhaavoss," blurted Bihr. "She was… as you'd described her to me."

Ishros munched on a tuber, "I'm glad there's a side to the mirror where she lived."

While Khel at the same time said, "I'm sorry we made you feel left out that night."

Bihr put her hand over Khel's and squeezed. "No. You were thinking about a time in your lives that made you happy. That's a part of you. And I've been blessed to be a part of your lives for over a decade."

"And four children," said Shroleb. "We all survived four terrible twos."

"Midnight feedings," said Khel.

"Refusing to eat or sleep, and the meltdowns that come of it," said Shrloeb. "'Or just tantrums. Fighting."

"Fighting over story time," said Ishros. "I do love doing the voices from the epic of Kumari."

"The time Shor turned off the gravity in the cargo bay and tried to tell us he broke his arm running down a hallway."

"Trying to help them with advanced physics homework," said Shroleb.

"But that was fun," said Bihr.

"For you," said Shroleb. "When you spend a month recalibrating the extremely technical things in the Warp engine, it is less fun for the rest of us."

Which was true. But then helping the children with their homework was always been divided among the parents. Bihr leaned back contentedly and enjoyed the time with her family.

In the morning, she filed her report and put Fisher in for a reprimand and a transfer. She was the head of Engineering, and no one was going to make changes to key systems on her ship without first verifying they wouldn't have well known repercussions. Not even Captain Holmes.

She wasn't Human after all.


	22. John's POV

When they reached their quarters, John turned off the lights, sat down on their bed and let go. Cried into Sherlock's chest, while Sherlock stroked his back. "Would you care to discuss it?"

"Kinda think we have to."

John pulled a little bit away, but kept their knees touching. "We went to a mirror universe."

Sherlock must be feeling particularly rattled, because he didn't scoff. Just kept stroking.

"It was… bad."

"So I gathered from your counterparts." Sherlock's breath was soft on his ear.

"I… and the other you, we…"

"I know." That steady wide warm hand kept up its motions. While I can observe certain indicators that you were involved in vigorous coitus with me, I know that you would not be able to deduce that the reverse was also true. Especially after the passage of some days, which is why I am telling you." 

John reflected on the cleansing power of waterfalls. Squeezed his Sherlock. "The other you was unbalanced. Violent. He tortured Hatherley to death. At least, that realities' Hatherley. Also, I ummm… finally see why you keep scoffing when I bring up my dad's um… what he did in comparison to your parents."

"I had thought we'd already established my parents have committed an order of magnitude more war crimes."

"Yeah, well, it looks like the universe or Trelane wanted to give me another chance to figure it out." John examined Sherlock's hand. Not meeting his eyes. "Trelane was here by the way."

"I discovered that while trying to determine what had occurred. However, the more prosaic answer was that Chief Fisher had modified a failsafe meant to keep just this sort of accident from occurring. I may have been a bit not good explaining his failures to him."

John laughed. He almost reached under the bed to pull out the box. But he had something to say first, "You don't mind that I," took a breath, "had sex with the other you. And you know, shared a heat, sort of. The Tiophilate worked a trick by the way. Stopped my heat cold, just as we'd speculated it would based on the gene sequences responsible for modulating heats."

"Was there a corresponding increase in blood pressure? Any effect on your kidney function? Was there… " Sherlock trailed off, laughing at himself. "We can discuss it later. But in your situation, you had less power to prevent it. I was in a greater position to avoid the other you when he went into estrus." After a pause. "Monitored by Julian in a professional capacity while he was sequestered alone in the holodeck with one of your old simulations of Emperor Sherlock."

"I may be retiring that and a few other scenarios," said John. Shuddered. "Definitely will be retiring them."

"Although, he was more than a bit upset when I realized my miscalculation. When we shared coitus, he had an emitter that gave off synthesized pheromones not dissimilar to when you were regressed in age, which affected my cognitive abilities considerably. And I do I think I deserve credit for all the past times I've accurately identified when the person facing me isn't you."

"All the points, love." John kissed Sherlock's cheek. "And your point."

Sherlock huffed. "Think John. I've admitted to unprotected coitus with the other you well within time span for not only my heavy cruisers, which is really an inaccurate name scientifically speaking, to survive in utero, but for the speed racers to be viable. And you may be very certain that the other you received more than sufficient vaginal stimulation to trigger ovulation."

John burst out laughing. "Sorry, it's just I've had the reverse of this conversation with the other Sherlock after he figured out I wasn't his John."

"Then they were not very observant," muttered Sherlock.

John kissed his cheek. "You are clearly superior in every regard."

John rested his face into the curve of Sherlock's neck. "So both of us are carrying ovum fertilized by the Sherlock from the other dimension." He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Certainly, an epic world of no regarding having not-Sherlock's kids. That Sherlock had more than enough children. Although, if even kind of evil versions of them were capable of having kids, who ran to help in a crisis, maybe, under very controlled circumstances and certainly no more than two, he was about ready to have children with Sherlock. He'd try the feeling on for size and bring it up to Sherlock when he was sure it fit.

"Yes, and no," said Sherlock. "You are pregnant with the other John's fertilized ovum."

"What?"

Sherlock sighed and pulled away from John again, which was not the direction John wanted him to go. "Think John. You and he are identical." He reached into his nightstand and pulled out a silver and a gold dildo, and held one in each hand. "The ion storm caused you to pass through to another reality during transport." He tossed the dildos, catching them neatly in the other hand. "But there is simply no statistical likelihood that the exact same sperm and the exact same ovum were fertilized in both your wombs, which then went through meiosis, which results in further randomization of the genetic material."

John looked down at his belly. "I'm Shroddinger's pregnant?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock balanced a cock ring on the head of each dildos. "You phased through realities." He flipped the tips of the dilidos that sent the rings straight up and tossed the dildos between hands in a quick low arc. The rings fell straight down. To be caught on the head of the opposite dildo. "The fertilized eggs would have remained in this reality, while you passed back to your original reality."

John looked down. "I'm about to be pregnant with an evil me's kids."

Sherlock tossed the toys over the side of the bed, uncaring about cleanup. "He was more ruthlessly pragmatic with sadistic tendencies."

John blew out a breath. "At least I got the other you started on the idea of an utero-transporter."

"While I gave the other you a working model and the schematics." Sherlock rubbed his back. "I suspect he'll be less interested in retaining this particular cube."

John tugged Sherlock back down against him. John snuggled into him. Warm. His. "S'Fine. Maybe the other me will be less angry if he's not pretty much constantly gestating. Although, he was a bit more in charge than I'd initially thought."

"So I gathered."

John cuddled closer. He whispered, because it was the sort of thing that had to be whispered. "Donovan knows about your parents. About the Breen. Sh'Alaack too."

They let the dark room hold that statement.

They both knew that if this came out, more than Sherlock's career was over. Certain Anti-Augment segments of the Federation might not be able to bar a significant percentage of the human population from serving in Starfleet, but one man, the son of mass murderers. They might manage that.

John hoped Sherlock knew that if he went, so went John. Sherlock kissed his cheek. "Of course, I know."

They told each other about their view of the last few weeks. John went first to get the worst out of the way. John ended with a question. "Do you think your parents are planning something like that here? Take over the Federation, I mean."

"They have never kept me in their confidences. But I think we should be more concerned if the upper brass pays to little attention to our reports than too much attention."

John nodded. Listened to Sherlock tell his view of the mirror. Let the story fade to silence and then sleep.

In the morning, he spent a long time looking at Sherlock. Stroking his hair. The right hair over the right twisty brain. He knew his own Sherlock must not have slept the entire time they were gone.

He waited until Sherlock woke up. Sherlock ran the scan. Thirteen blobs of differentiating cells floated inside of John. The other him had certainly enjoyed himself in the holodeck. Not yet even attached. John smiled at Sherlock's concentration as he used the Utero Transporter. Sherlock marked the cube as "Nature versus Nurture: alternate universe," and the stardate, and put it in the box with the others. Sherlock had taken over putting descriptors on every one of the cubes, because John had been imprecise what with merely using a stardate and his utter lack of a spreadsheet tracking their proto-progeny.

They put the box away under the bed together.

Slipped back under the covers for a long cuddle.


	23. Mirror John's POV

John shot the omniscient omnipotent being that appeared in their bedroom while Sherlock was taking a much needed stimulation break. Mildly tranquilized with a feeding tube to suckle on, and firmly wrapped in bindings for comfort. "Sod off."

"I did not send you to another reality," said Trelane in a wounded tone. "Although, isn't it marvellous what came out of that circum..."

John shot him again for good measure. It had no effect other than to calm John's temper. Finally, after multiple sighs from Trelane, John asked, "What do you want?"

"In every reality, you and Sherlock are meant for each other."

"So you've mentioned." And mentioned and mentioned during John's trip to the Guardian of Forever. John had hoped that that sort of soft spot was the only place he'd see the being, but no such luck.

"But what does it mean that I'm not meant to be with the Euros in this reality? Does that mean we're not meant to be in that other John's reality? Or does that make us star crossed?"

"No, you're not star crossed and it's up to the two of you to work it out or not," said John. "Like everyone else. Now sod off. Sherlock needs his rest."

Trelane sodded off. 

John went to check on the Uterine Replicators lining the far wall of their bedroom. Not that John was certain the universe needed yet more of his and Sherlock's progeny. But Sherlock's presentation had been compelling.

It was common knowledge among the Breen that they were descendants from Augments from Earth. They'd even had the details on the precise genetic signatures. Certainly, John knew where they'd gotten Juvenile Heat from. And for that matter how the 1st Alignment had fucked the Breen over trying to snip that bit of code out with consequences. No heat. No babies. Which led to petri dish fertilization and babies in a box. 

And John had known, oh how he'd known, just how very lucky he was that the 6th Alignment's little retrovirus didn't affect him. Meant to root out supposed infections in the genome through venereal transfer. Heatless didn't mean sexless. A stupid arse idea they'd had after they'd gotten their first look at the genes of the kids the Khans and their followers had left behind. It had cut too much. Made those eggs and swimmers so much dead cells in a petri dish. Meant that even fertilized eggs mostly gave up and died. Superiors paired with Inferiors might pop out one set of kids and done. Retired pets got to wear clothes and shite work running things.

John had decided that his Imperial regalia would be a negligee of translucent whisper of thin gold silk and the rest of the Khanate could suck it.

But the tablets, that had been something Sherlock had thought up for their kids to leave them.

As soon as it was dug up, Sherlock had read John the sheepish tablet Quatre Primus had left, and done some research. After all, it was expected that their children would be reproductively viable with Inferiors. Was all kind of there in the package. The Khans and their followers were immune to the retrovirus. Had immune systems that told retro to suck it. They were the original mod. Sherlock and Grendel were the only ones left of that particular stock left.

John didn't care where Grendel stuck his cock. He wasn't John's grandfather no matter what the berk tried to smarm him with.

Quatre Primus had said it had been quite the party. John might still be angry - always - but he had to laugh. Of course, the moment their kids were out of the house, they'd sexed everyone that would agree to give the brave warriors a good send off, which had gone an unexpected direction. 

Sherlock showed John Hatherley's confession of certain things, unrelated to John, which certainly clarified a thing or two.

Singing cancelled, because all the attendees were busy fucking. Primus and Secundus tossed through the portal by Kettry guards with no fanfare the moments knots let go. Quatre Primus making John a grandmother, five thousand years in the past. So far, a little strange, but no barking dog.

But Sherlock had found was that several attendees who'd gone to represent their alignments at the Concordia had had taken six to ten month rest breaks afterwards. Omegas all.

All of the attendees had begun taking suppressants rendered previously unnecessary by the 1st Alignments little retrovirus. Alphas and omegas. Although, alpha suppressants were little more than pheromone receptor depressants. But only the attendees.

Sherlock had wiggled with glee when the omega Admiral of the 1st Alignment fleet had just requested leave for another rest break. 

To spend time with his family.

Wouldn't want anyone to think he was an Inferior after all.

It was a sop to an angry wound that had festered for most of John's life. It also meant that John was a grandmother in the present as well as the distant past. He sent Donovan to check on his grandkids. Threaten their parents to take good care of them. Whatnot. 

And John had agreed that they would upload what had resulted from the latest time John's suppressant failed. He'd also insisted they move back into Sherlock's childhood home at least until the children were older. It wasn't as if they couldn't run the empire from anywhere. With the occasional break for a little hands on activity. Empires needed a strong whip hand. 

Thus the need for a sensory break. Thus the gestational units.

John had wanted to kill Victorious, but in the end, it was a worthwhile trade. 

Sherlock whined in his sleep. The scenting mask over his nose and eyes had slipped. John repositioned it with a whisper, "There, now. Don't fret. I've got you." Sherlock wouldn't be able to hear him through the plugs in his ears, but he'd feel the vibrations. Know it was John. 

Soon, the tranquilizer would wear off. John would peel back the mask so he'd know when the children came in wanting a story. Would sighed happily as John exchanged the bindings for a pile of their children wriggling around him.

Sherlock would wake up as everyone settled, and he and John's father would take turns telling the kids another adventure story that kept everyone rapt until it was time for holographic nurses to bundle children off to bed, and for everyone to sleep through the long night.


End file.
